The Winds Return
by Robswandering
Summary: The Male Confessor, The Swordsman and the Mord Sith, The Winds Request
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE****: **The Winds Return

**AUT****HOR****: **Robswandering

**CHARACTERS****: **Richard Rahl / Kahlan Rahl / George Zeddicus Rahl / Chaylan / Jarek / Liam /

**RATING****: **R / M

**WARNINGS****:** No Warning

**TIMELINE****: **After Season 2, 26 years

**DISCLAIMER****:** This is a creative license to use some of my favorite Programs from Legend of the Seeker Television show and develop a more in depth personal view of one possible future for Richard and Kahlan.

**SUMMARY****:  
><strong>Chapter 1: Opening Sequence and introduction of new Characters, new plot line and historical references to past events that may lead to the events taking place in this story. This First chapter takes the reader through the introduction of George, a young man who finds himself in the Wizards keep with the sword of truth and a destiny that he is desperately running from finally catches up to him. It also develops new character relationships with three young swordsman as Kahlan and Cara desperately search for Richard Rahl who seems to have disappeared. Richard explores this new place he's been transported to and finds that his location is rather familiar, if not precarious.

The Male Confessor

The Papyrus and empty ink bottles jostled across the gray stone floor when the window flew open ushering in the rain and wind. The figure in the plain robes looked up from his reading glaring at the intrusion and nearly going blind at the bright flashing glares that struck the night sky while rushing to shutter and lock the windows for the second time this evening.

"Seems as though magic is afoot wizard," whispered the voice of a young lithe and lean muscled boy of twenty or so years lying against the far book shelves. The shadowed tale tell signs of a sheathed sword in its scabbard lay across his lap. Sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his face in rivulets drenching his already soaked tunic. Dark and sunken eyes stared out across the room in stark contrast to the pale pastiness of his skin. The earthy colors of his clothing different than one would normally see in Aydindril. Part of his chosen profession the wizard assumed going back to his work flipping through another page before rubbing some leaves together over a small bowl boiling on a burner on the stone table in the middle of the room.

The Wizard grunted noncommittally "Hmm. Almost done boy, just a few more moments." He stuck his tongue out between his teeth running his finger down the next page of a large leather tome. "I think, hmmm, perhaps that will work," He said to himself pouring the contents of a dark gray bottle into the bowl. "Ok…" He held up the bowl and shook in a circular motion, three times clockwise, then once counterclockwise. "I… I think we're, almost, ready."

The boy smiled incredulously in spite of the pain now working its way through the front of his forehead. "What wizard? Did you forget the eye of Gar? Or perhaps you forgot to draw the magical symbols in the right order?" His face looked even worse than before, his cheeks and eye lids drooped and heavy under a thin brow. His handsome chiseled features offset by a curve that softened the sharpness of those features with disheveled short brown hair and skin that looked even paler than before.

The wizard chuckled good naturedly playing off the air of danger that toyed with the circumstances. "No, no, boy, don't be fool-" The bowl hit the floor its contents spilling out across the stone as the Wizard now able to fully see the sword lying on the boys lap pointed at it with a bony finger.

"See Wizard," The boy huffed, clearly out of breathe watching the bowl roll across the room and flipping upside down.

The Wizards motionlessness was disconcerting. As If he had suddenly walked into a trap odf air that made him perfectly still. That is till he found his voice and pointed at the sword lying in the boys lap. "Where. did. you. get. that?" The good natured sing song voice had evaporated into a menacing rasp. As if by magic the air in the room got heavier, candles flickered threatening to extinguish the light from the room and every piece of wood in the room groaned with the sound of its very splinters expanding.

"What? This?" The boy patted the sword, "I was ordered to bring it here in case there was trouble."

"Trouble?" The wizard threw up his arms in exasperation. "What kind of trouble are we talking about boy?" The wizard pulled up his robes to squat in front of the boy, his nose a scant inches from the boys. He tried again, this time bringing his voice to a whisper attempting to mask it with a more civil tone. Scaring the boy wouldn't bring answers. "What kind of trouble are we talking about, boy?"

"He's gone, he's just gone..." The boy was rapidly losing consciousness. His eyes closed momentarily.

The wizards' look of impatience was barely containable. "Who's gone? Why do you have this?" The tenuous control he had kept on his voice was lost in the torrent of fear rapidly replacing it. "Where is Richard Rahl?! Where is the Seeker?!"

"Gone, he's gone wizard, so I brought the…" Darkness threatened to take him. "I brought the sword to the Keep as he instructed." The boy was barely hanging on now. There wasn't much time.

"Gone" The wizard echoed in the cavernous room. "Gone where boy?"

"I don't know, Wizard, he simply vanished, but there was this chill to the air like death itself stepped out of nothingness and just took him." The boy looked into the Wizards eyes and gulped in a breath sitting up a bit straighter against the bookshelf. "There is one more thing The Mother… asked me to tell you before she sent me."

"The Mother..?" The wizard leaned back a moment, "The Mother Confessor?"

The boy nodded, "My mother."

The Wizard backed away quicker than a deer scenting a predator. "Your mother is the Mother Confessor?!"

The boy nodded again, his eyes closed, his face if possible paler than before. The steady staccato sound of water trickling down the window sill and falling to the stone floor, the flickering and popping of the flames on the brazier warming the room, and the whistling of the wind through the natural ventilations of the keep were the only movement present. Everything else had frozen in time for but a moment.

"Bags! Nothing is ever easy." The wizard stared at the bowl and its contents strewn about the floor. "Bags, that concoction would have killed you boy! Why didn't you say you were a Confessor?" Silence filled the room. The boy lay there silently, chin resting on his chest as his breathing slowed. The wizard touched his index finger to the boys' forehead "There that ought to hold you while I prepare the right spell."

The Sunlight shown through the tall slim window high above as the sun reached its midmorning stand to glare straight into the face of the young man. He moved his scarred hand across his face to lessen the intensity of the light and opened his eyes. It was a momentary blink and then he was sitting straight up.

The room was gray, that is to say the walls were gray and made of stone, and he noted the vertical lines and angles of the mountain and deduced he was in one of the quarters off the eastern wing. The moss next to the window was growing on the ledge away from sunlight and moving up the northern wall. He stood placing his feet firmly on the carpeted stone floor half expecting to lose his balance again with the fever overtaking him as it did the previous night just as he made it into the old wizards study. He remembered laying there practically unconscious attempting to speak, perhaps a quip or two and then suddenly it felt like the whole room seemed to close in on him so fast it threatened to crush him.

He moved to the chest scenting of pine at the end of the bed and pulled on his breaches lying neatly laundered across it. The smell of soap permeated the room as the water in the washbowl on the table near the door steamed with the heat of it. "Interesting," He whispered to himself. "The wizard must've known when I would wake." He stared at his own reflection in the mirror placing both hands on the table breathing in the heat of the water as the cold frigid air of winter blew in through the window. The color had returned, but the gash along the length of his brow had been mended and bandaged. He noted the imperfect scar that bisected his left eyebrow and as a fleeting thought grimaced at the fatness of his lip. He lightly pulled it only to find his whole face recoil at the pain that seared through his teeth and jaw. "Guess some things even an old wizard can't fix." He murmured to himself.

"No, some lessons can only be taught through pain, boy." The old man's voice echoed through the cavernous room as he stood just outside the doorway, his plain brown robes swishing about his feet by some unseen force. "You are George Zeddicus Rahl, I presume."

The boy straightened at the appellation. "Ahh, so there is some intelligence in this old keep yet. How long did it take you to figure that out?"

The Old Wizard slyly smiled and flicked his hand. The boy jumped at the slight pinch on his backside, "A funny quip is one thing boy, but insolence isn't attractive by any standard."

"Good to know," George bent down and laced up his doeskin boots, "You were right though, about the name, but I don't have much use for it." He sighed. "Everyone calls me Geezer."

The old Wizard nodded imperceptibly, "There are many people in this world, it seems self-serving and a bit naive that wish to be called anything other than who they are. You sadly are not a unique curiosity in that respect"

"Sometimes, I don't want to be myself. You know? Fathers the Seeker and a War-Wizard. Mother's a confessor, _The_ Mother Confessor." He shrugged. "Tough to live up to the reputation that's already been established for me. Especially when I'm not even sure I want it."

"Have you already confessed, boy?" The wizards question was pointed and barbed with purpose. He placed his hands in his sleeves.

"I have," The glassy look in his eyes seemed to pull him back to another time. "I was fourteen. She was a girl I liked. Her name was Aian. She…" He cleared his throat as the lump slowly rose. "She was the same age as me and beautiful, and smart, and she had these eyes that seemed to explore the world in ways I never knew existed. We were out walking in the gardens just past Kings Row, you know the place?"

The wizard nodded in affirmation, but said nothing. His silence was a clear indication he wished the boy to continue.

George sat down on the chest at the end of the bed and smiled at the memory. "Well, we were talking about the Ja la Rahl tournament and that Barian, he's the baller for the Aydindril team, well he's really good, but anyways, she dropped a pendant her mother had given her and we both reached down to pick it up and bumped heads." He laughed jovially as he remembered the look on her face holding her hand to her forehead laughing all the while. "She couldn't stop laughing." He chuckled, "Then it happened." His laughter died as suddenly as it began. "I bent down to pick it up and when I sat up she kissed me. At first I didn't know what happened, but then I sort of melted into it and we both felt this… this jolt like when every fiber of your body seems to get hit at once by lightning, but there was no sound, just this strange sensation. I didn't know where it had come from, but then she looked at me with this glazed expression on her face and said, 'Command me Master'.

"What did you do after that boy?" The Wizards tone was unquestionably clear. The next few moments would be crucial.

"Well, most boys my age back then were stepping all over themselves just to get a glimpse of a smile from Aian pointed in their direction. I, me, George Zeddicus Rahl, had this beautiful girl falling over herself just to obey my every whim. What would any other boy do?"

"I see," The disapproving grimace was enough to mark the Wizards assumption of unsavory events that possibly followed. He moved toward the boy slowly until he stood a few feet from him, the hems of his robes still swishing ominously. "Follow me,"

George Zeddicus Rahl met Wizards stare. "I'm not done yet."

"What boy?" The wizards rather terse reply.

"That's not the end of the story Wizard." He took a deep breathe. "For a while everything was great, she would do anything I asked of her. Walk with me, talk with me about anything. Do anything, but if you're thinking I did anything to soil the honor of the girl, I'll have you know I never touched her. Not once."

"But the thought crossed your mind boy." The Wizard put in with that indelible skepticism. "Didn't it?"

"No." He met the Wizards challenging glare with one of his own before continuing. "She became something else entirely. She wasn't the Aian I knew. She wasn't herself. It's like the light was on, but somehow the brightness had somehow dimmed from brilliant sunlight to that of a torch barely holding its own." The tear fell from his eye and rolled down his face before dripping from his dimpled chin and falling to the floor. "She was gone. I killed my best friend and what was left, well… It wasn't her."

The old wizard gently placed his hand on the boys shoulder and channeled warmth of the additive giving him peace as the tears rolled and finally subsided. "You are definitely your fathers' son George."

"I told my mother. I begged her to help Aian. I begged my father, but he said there was nothing that could be done to bring her back. I…" He looked up, anger momentarily flashing in his eyes as he wiped them with the sleeve of his shirt and pulled on his leather coat. "Nothing could be done Wizard! Nothing!"

"It is a difficult path that we magical creatures walk my boy, a difficult path indeed." The old Wizard handed the boy a cloth from the table with the basin.

George continued when he had calmed. "It is odd, but my mother was more furious that I'd waited to tell her than the actual doing. I thought she was going to call lightning from the sky and blister my backside right there, but my father calmed her. Back then I thought that her duties as the Mother Confessor weighed on her so much that perhaps she reacted as her post warranted. "

"That's not the case?" The Wizard asked intrusively. His sincere interest belied his purpose for being there.

George shook his head as he pulled his cotton shirt over his head and tied the ties. "No, she was afraid for me. For what would happen if certain people found out I could wield the power of a confessor." He stood up and strapped the baldric around him at last attaching the sword of truth that had been propped against the chest. "Can you Imagine Wizard? A male confessor?" He stood staring at the Wizard with an incredulous expression clearly expecting a response.

"Indeed, those dark days were many years ago George, but I tell you that those days will not return if we are careful." The Wizard lifted a bony finger in the air to accentuate his point. "If... we are careful."

"Indeed, Wizard. That is why I came." He cleared his throat, "Not only to protect the sword, but also to seek the help of the Wizards."

"What help do you wish to seek?" The Wizard watched as a Hawk alighted on the sill of the tall window and eyed them carefully.

"I wish to be free of the Confessors Curse." George replied with a tone of blatant finality. "I wish to be done with it, to be normal. I don't want to risk the lives of everyone I come into contact with by a simple touch."

The Swordsman and the Mord Sith

The Sun glistened through the trees of the lower Ven forest inundating the dust motes floating restlessly through the air with a strange, almost mysterious, tint. The trees still baring long slender leaves as the fall months had barely enough time to turn its canopy hues of red, yellow and orange. The forest floor was musky and wet with the hint of wood smoke wafting into the air somewhere in the distance to the west. The combination of dust, fog and setting sunlight cast dancing shadows of three men moving and pivoting through the motions of ancient blade exercises across the clearing surrounded by dense forest. Their blades cast reflections of light in the dying sunlight that pierced into the darkness of the trees. They moved as one dancing in and out interweaving footwork between each other blades never touching, but always a hairs width from one wrong move and instant death awaited.

Finally with sweaty brows the three came to a sudden and abrupt kneeling halt, each facing each other like corners of a triangle before a sword. The tip of the blades hung a toes width above the ground and the hilts resting firmly against their foreheads. In the sudden stillness the moments passed till the tallest of the three stood, "All right gents, I think that's enough for one day. We'll pick this up again tomorrow."

The other two men stood lightly. One was short, yet stocky, his shoulders wide and chest equally so with chiseled features and eyes like those of a prowling cat, slightly pointed at angles offsetting the flat of his nose and dark smooth olive skin. The freckles on his face belied a boyish charm that disguised a quick mind and an equally talented tongue. His disarming smile was infectious and served him well more times than he could count in getting out of a scrape or two. His name was Liam, which in Westland culture was more often associated with the feminine Lia. Not a name he would have chosen for himself. His mother named him, thinking it would grow on him, but luckily his good fortune changed since his father had caught him sleeping in the goat pen one morning after an evening of carousing he had earned the name thereafter 'Goat'. More pleasing, he had thought, than being teased for his rather feminine appellation.

"Goat!" pause "Liam! Did you hear me?" The taller man smacked Liams head with the flat of his blade. The taller man noted the refocused attentive glare. "We'll pick this up again in the morning."

Liam's face screwed up in pain as he slapped the blade away. "Ouch, alright Chay, tomorrow morning, I'll be here" Liam rubbed the back of his head massaging away the sting as he moved off through the trees.

The two men still standing in the clearing donned their shirts and cloaks and, Jarek, the shorter, but only by half a hands length leaned against the trunk of a tall tree. His face was slender like the rest of his body, he moved with the fluid grace of a predator, even standing still his presence marked almost a noble relaxed demeanor. His long legs and muscular yet lean arms revealed years of training and muscle strengthening. Each muscle group carefully sculpted to perform a task from start to finish. His long blond hair fell to his shoulders framing strong angular features and eyes that were a light shade of ice blue.

Jarek looked around checking to see if anyone was in earshot before speaking. "Chaylan, I hear Marta is leaving for Aydindril next season. Weren't you betrothed to her?"

Jareks companion grimaced visibly as if Jarek had jabbed him with the tip of his sword. Chaylans' youthful features belied the long white hair that cascaded down his back held in perfect check with a leather thong. Not a single strand or wisp of stray hair out of place. His features were long sweeping angles slightly curved at the cheekbones and jawline, but staying true to the well-proportioned symmetry of his eyes bearing the remarkable and uncanny appearance of a hawk. His warm brown eyes put many people at ease at first glance, but after moments of being around him, his demeanor unmasked the unique concerted features of the curve, shape and texture of his eyes and a personality that held even the most ostentatious mesmerized. He was a predator.

"Ahh, did I say too much my friend?" Jarek noted the lack of desire to strike up the conversation.

Chaylan flipped the oiled cloth from his bag and wiped the blade clean before replacing it in its scabbard. "Betrothed you say?"

Jarek's easygoing smile faded noting the deflection of his question. "Never mind. It's none of my business."

"Aye, a fair question, but in truth, she's leaving for Aydindril soon so we have mutually agreed to leave our claim to one another in postponement." Chaylan eyed his companion with a mischievous halfcocked smile. "I hear Cala is to be a mother and you a father next spring."

It was Jareks turn to grimace uncomfortably, but that didn't show in the slow smooth stroke as he ran the oiled cloth along the length of his blade. "You know how rumors are spread by fools with nothing to gain."

"Well if it's true, then you're the fool. You knew she was promised to Seskin." Chaylan flipped his water skin in the air with one smooth flick of his foot and caught it in his hand. "You'll have to marry the girl, you know. It won't be so bad, she's loved you since you were both old enough crawl."

"Marry Cala?" Jarek scoffed, "You become the Champion of the Fall Festival six seasons in a row and does anyone remember that? No. One night of indiscretion with a childhood friend and bahaaa, you are caged for life."

Chaylan placed a reassuring hand on Jareks shoulder, "It's important to do right by the girl, I think you know that."

Jarek picked up a stone and threw it off into the trees. "I'd just as soon marry Goat!"

Chaylan laughed, "Well at least with Liam, children would be the least of your problems."

Jarek elbowed his old friend, but when the jovial nature subsided he stared him straight in the eye. "I will see about her tonight before I go home. Perhaps I can smooth things out with her father and maybe if he permits I will consider marrying the girl."

Chaylan's intrusive expression left little to the imagination, "You won't admit it to yourself, but you've loved the girl all your life Jarek and I think there's a soft spot in you for her."

Jareks smile betrayed him, "Indeed. Let's go get a drink to celebrate my baby boy."

Chaylan chuckling laughter echoed through the forest, "A boy is it now? You are certain? Since when do you need a reason to celebrate anything?"

"Aye a boy, Jarek does not have girls, besides I've got to also work up the courage to talk to her father. He's got a mean right hook." Jarek said offhand as he picked his way through the trees.

Chaylan shook his head smiling to himself picking up the scabbard of his sword as he left the clearing. Then with just as sudden a moment, the scabbard flew out of his hand and his sword poised and ready glimmered in the dusky light. The fog covered the ground in rolling wafts of mist and he stood listening. Surveying the clearing and unable to break his line of sight through the fog on the other side. He moved swiftly back and forth along the edge of the clearing and listened at last hearing it again, only slight. It was a sound and scent enraptured together giving off a hint of danger.

The sound of cloth, no… leather. It was the sound of leather rubbing against the tree bark at the far edge of the clearing that caught his attention. The scent grew stronger as it wafted at an angle toward him. He could sense in his mind that this unknown friend or foe was moving closer along the edge of the clearing. Chaylan placed the blade against his forehead and moved fluidly out into the middle of the clearing mentally preparing for the battle.

She appeared out of the mist like a ghost in red. A long red rod brandished in her right hand attached to a chain that connected to her wrist. The leather clung to her body like a second skin. He could see the outline of her slender feminine form and the slow fluid movement of her hips as she carefully dipped and moved on the balls of her feet. There was a unique looking crescent shape that outlined the buckle of her belt and the leather accentuated her every curve leaving nothing to the imagination. Her hair was blond with a single length braid running down the middle of her back.

Chaylan stepped back lowering his weapon just a hair, "What have we here?"

"If you were asking me, I'd say we have a sheepherder about to be sent home to his mother." The leather clad female shot back with a sardonic tone.

"Not likely," Chaylans voice was hollow. He could feel the blood moving and the dance with the blade begin. He moved sidestepping left and she side stepped right. They moved like cats appraising each other in balance and skill, neither taking their eyes off one another.

"Indeed, I'm going to enjoy this." She smiled that sly cocky smile and moved forward testing his reaction. "I am Cara, and I'm looking for Lord Rahl."

"My friend and I don't know any Lord Rahl." She took the opening she was looking for. He stepped left, she lunged forward. He raised the sword up and over his head as the Agiel shot out coming in low at his midsection. The pivot of his right foot nearly allowed him to avoid the Agiel as he spun and gripped her forearm smashing the hilt of the sword down onto her face.

Blood gushed from her mouth as Cara slipped forward under his guard and kicked his legs out from under him before driving the Agiel into his rib cage as he landed flat on his back in the dirt. She smirked a little self-satisfied as she heard the familiar pop of bone.

Chaylan screamed. The pain driven into his rib cage was possibly the most excruciating torment he'd ever received in his life. He writhed as she twisted the rod against his rib cage, his voice becoming hoarse from the screaming alone. Then all at once, it stopped and he looked up into the cold crystal eyes of the woman in red leather he only knew as Cara.

"Now," she whispered with barely controlled rage, "Where is Lord Rahl?" She poised the rod only a few breaths from his bruised ribs. For a brief moment, panic threatened to overwhelm him.

"I don't know this Lord Rahl. We're Westlanders, we don't know about you midlanders." Chaylans face appeared fearful and subservient.

Cara lifted the boys face to meet hers. "I'm not a Midlander, you buffoon," She pressed the Agiel into his thigh and listened to the sweet sounds of his scream. "I'm Dharan, and you will never forget it if it's the last thing I do."

He gasped attempting to restore his breathing and rapidly came to his senses realizing her dilemma. She was desperately searching for someone. For a moment he studied her. She was a warrior, she thrived on conflict. Then it hit him, he made a show of staring at the cleavage of her red leather outfit, "Well, you know from where I'm sitting it doesn't seem like it would be a bad way to die, but unless you intend on having my children this conversation has gone on long enough, I don't know anything, so either bring it, or get off me."

"Gah! Fine then," Cara pushed the boy down and looked over her shoulder, "Its ok, it's safe, you can come out now."

Chaylan took the opportunity while she was distracted to look past her at the figure dressed in travelling clothes coming out of the forest from the same direction as this red leathered panther. This was his moment. As quick as lightning he grabbed her wrist and flipped his leg over hers gaining leverage and momentum. Cara momentarily grunted realizing the oversight and attempting to counterbalance but it was too late.

Cara lay on her back, the Agiel pinned beneath her. His nose practically touching her own as he stared into her eyes. She struggled momentarily, the anger overtaking the panic she felt at being taken off guard by a common peasant. He smiled and reflexively winced from the pain ebbing from his ribs. "Cara is it? I'm going to let you up now and we're going to have a chat. Any wrong moves-"

The words garbled in his mouth as her face blasted him across the bridge of his nose. He recoiled, but unfortunately for her it wasn't enough to dislodge him. Blood gushed all over her red leather as he cried out shaking his head. Cara could see her travelling companion leaning against a tree on the other side of the clearing. "Are you going to help me, or just stand there like one of those trees Lord Rahl loves so much?"

The newcomer smiled, "You seem to have everything under control, Cara, who am I to interfere with a Sister of the Agiel while she's working?" The smile was more of a smirk.

Cara let out a cry of frustration and smacked her head on the ground as she moved her arm to reach her Agiel. "Thank you Mother Confessor, Thank you very much."

The new comer just waved, "Anytime, Cara."

Chaylan laughed in spite of himself at the banter between the two women. "You know, you both should have your own tavern show. You could make enough money to buy Blondie here a personality."

Cara's frustration was at her breaking point. She lifted her head and grabbed his bottom lip between her teeth, and bit down. Chaylans momentary cry turned to stifled laughter as he somehow got hold of her top lip between his teeth and returned the favor. He felt a reprieve from the pain in his lip and finally, the stars in front of his eyes went away to reveal Cara lying beneath him blood running from her nose and mouth. She lay there glaring up at him with a stare that could melt iron.

Chaylan laughed. "You are a feisty one aren't you? Enough games," Chaylan stood up and proffered his hand to the young read leathered beauty. Cara ignored it and stood up on her own. It was her way of gaining back some self-respect. "Suit yourself." He said picking up the sword from where it lay in the dirt. He pulled the oiled rag out of his bag and wiped down the blade and cross guard.

Kahlan stood watching as Cara gracefully moved toward her rubbing her hand across the bloody gash in her mouth, smiling to herself, savoring the feel of the pain. Cara didn't accept the cloth that Kahlan held out to her. She instead picked up their packs from behind a large tree stump at the edge of the clearing and started to move back into the forest. Kahlan was about to turn back when the blade of a sword touched her chin.

"Don't move a muscle or I slit your throat." Whispered the panicked voice over her right shoulder. Kahlan stopped moving. His hand was on her shoulder but not touching her skin. The sword was just below the hollow of her neck, but none of his other body parts came into contact with hers.

"What do you want?" Her voice tinged with a tone of Authority. "Your blonde friend there hurt my boy. Wondering if I shouldn't do the same to you."

Chaylan finished wiping the blood from his face in time to look up and see Jarek with his sword at the neck of the woman in travelling clothes. "Jarek! Release her!"

Jarek momentarily looked passed the woman staring at the bloody face of his comrade. "But her friend, I say we repay the favor."

Chaylan stood with hands on hips, "There are some things better left alone Jarek, let her be on her way without any trouble."

Jareks eyes moved from Chaylans bloodied face to the woman he had at blade point. "Aye, as you will Chaylan, as you will."

Kaylan felt the pressure of the blade lift off her throat and she exhaled slowly. Her gaze fell to the bloodied young man who stood only two horse lengths away from her. "Thank you Chaylan, she said in her most respectful tone, yet still even that was scented with an air of authority.

Jarek screamed and crumpled to the ground body writhing and screaming as the Agiel was pressed into the palm of his hand. Chaylan raced over to find the woman in red leather kneeling over Jareks writhing body.

Cara's face was contorted in a glare that would melt steel, "Never, touch, the, Mother, Confessor, again!" She whispered menacingly accentuating each word by pressing the Agiel harder against Jareks Hand.

Chaylan sighed clearly exasperated, "Oh for the love of the Creator Blondie give it a rest will ya?" He stared down at Jareks unconscious body after Cara moved away clearly self-satisfied. "You do realize this means I'm going to have to cart him back to the house don't you?"

Cara grunted apathetically and Kahlan simply smoothed down the front of her travelling clothes clearly disinterested.

The Winds Request

"Ten times ten times ten times ten…" The words echoed off what sounded to be granite walls, but there was no light. It was dark and the air around him carried a stale air, but it had strangeness to it as if it were somehow laced with magic. He stumbled forward on the slightly raised stones and fell to his knees catching his palms on the floor. The floor seemed to writhe under his fingers like a thousand tiny pinpricks.

He lifted his head and noticed a vague shadow illuminating in the distance. He stared at the growing dimness till it revealed a brilliant light piercing the darkness drawing him to his feet. "What are you doing Richard? It seems you've grown soft." He whispered sardonically. He raised his hand palm up and channeled additive magic through his fingertips. The light flaring from the Wizards fire rapidly rolled over itself in the palm of his hand giving off a brilliant light illuminating the granite rock around him. He waited while the balls of wizards fire split into two and then divided itself again, each successive ball floating farther down the corridor as if by its own will. Richard stood in the small corridor, knees slightly bent and head bowed so as not to bump it on the low overhead. "I hate tight spaces," he mumbled to himself remembering the night he found himself stuck in the cave on the verge of panic attempting to retrieve a dragons egg from an uncooperative band of Gars.

A gruff guttural growling sound came from behind him and seemed to rush in from the darkness causing him to fall back into the granite wall in surprise. The Wizards fire almost extinguished, yet the sound grew in intensity as he stared back down the corridor into the darkness attempting to make out a shadow farther down where the Wizards fire didn't illuminate. The corridor was too small to effectively mount a defense with a weapon, but as it was, the only weapon available to him was his hunting knife. "Not very effective against a creature of magic," he muttered sheathing the weapon once again. For a brief moment he stared at the ball of Wizards fire roiling in his hand rubbing his chin with a thumb and forefinger, "Yea, that will do." The growling guttural sound of fangs and teeth moved closer and Richard could practically smell fetid breath on his neck and the interminable heat he felt might melt his skin from his bones. Perhaps now he was only making his imagination tell him something that wasn't true, but to him being here in this place. This was no illusion.

Channeling additive into the Wizards fire in his hand he shaped it, forged it like a blacksmith with his mind, the blue flame began to morph into a long slender staff. Richard gripped it like a sword and the Wizards fire flattened like that of a long blade, cross guard, and hilt taking shape. When he was satisfied he tested the feel of the makeshift blade with as much movement as he could muster in such a tight space. The light ahead was closer now as the lamps of Wizards' Fire followed him at a distance acting as a rear guard when he passed them.

The corridor became smaller with every step. He noted the oddest changes in texture and form to the walls as they became smooth and covered in plaster the closer he came to the light at the end of the corridor. He felt changes in the gift. Subtle, yet oddly familiar, like sunlight rising out of the darkness slowly illuminating everything as it rose. He moved down the brightly lit passage with purpose till all at once he felt resistance. The light at the end of the corridor stood before him, a doorway, but the air had compressed and felt as though he'd hit a solid transparent wall. Richard cleared his mind and relaxed his muscles attempting to take a step forward. He could feel the barrier laced with additive and subtractive magic and something else. Something familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The guttural animalistic cries behind him continued to grow louder and more persistent.

He turned toward the darkness and hurled the floating balls of wizards fire hovering in the air behind him back down the corridor from where he had come with blistering speed. When they reached too far for him to see, Richard cleared his mind and reached out with his gift. The balls of Wizards fire were his eyes. He could see all around them. Every detail, even the floor seemed to move with vivid colors. It was like a river of additive and subtractive magic rolling toward the light. The Wizards fire moved with speed until at last they ran into the other end of the corridor that opened into an alcove. The Shadow of a great beast moved with such swiftness, Richard recoiled at the sight and the Wizards fire extinguished. Richard stood staring into the darkness. There was no way out and panic was threatening to set in as the guttural sound of this unseen enemy came closer.

Richard was trapped, but that didn't mean his gift was necessarily trapped. "Ok Richard, think." He sat down on the stone floor feeling the ebb and flow of the additive and subtractive magic run over him. It was as if this entire corridor was a tie to the world he came from and the one he could see but not reach. He stared off into the light and could make out the dusky figures of people moving like ghosts through the room beyond. He could feel the vastness of the hall beyond the corridor, but unable to reach it.

Richard ran his fingers through his hair and mentally dug deep. Of all the things he had learned he knew that magic had two sides. Always two sides. This particular magic appeared to be a check of some kind. It allowed the additive and the subtractive through, but nothing else. "Nothing is ever easy," he mumbled to himself. He continued to stare at the figures moving to and fro through the great hall and then he saw one he recognized. _No. It can't be. How did I get here?_ He was in the world of death, the underworld.

His breathe hitched in his throat and he cried out. "Confessor!" The misty figure paid him no attention, but there was another who noted him. A brief look of surprise crossed the figures visage and then a smile of absolute pleasure, not at seeing Richard himself, but at seeing the look of hopeless frustration upon his face. The figure moved ever closer to the boundary of resistance that didn't permit Richard to pass until they were a mere scissors width from one another.

Richard noted that in his list of unique qualities this magical barrier held. It was not as substantial in form as he had first thought. "Good to see you again Richard," The voice came through the barrier as clear as if there was nothing preventing him from moving forward. Note two, Richard thought to himself. Sound is not barred.

"I can't say the same," Richard retorted.

"Tsk tsk tsk, now why would you say something so hurtful when I'm in a perfectly good position to help you." The figure clicked his tongue to accentuate the point.

"I wouldn't know, perhaps you could enlighten me as to the trouble I'm in, Father." Richard smiled back with that warm disarming smile.

Darken Rahls face mirrored concern, or at least Richard thought, as close as he could come. The slight mocking tone in his voice betrayed him. "Come now Richard, let's not play games. You're never going to get through the veil. Not without some help."

Richard jabbed the point of his sword into the barrier. Darken Rahl reactively stepped back as the sword came through, but once the tip reached the other side of the barrier it vanished. The remnants' of the magic in the blade flowing down into the river of additive and subtractive magic that moved passed his legs.

"Richard, you'll tear the veil and then what sort of trouble will you have?" Darken Rahl smiled at him, clearly enjoying watching him struggle. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy that. What did you hope to accomplish by that little display?

"Simply testing a theory," Richard replied nonchalantly.

"Did your test reach the desired result, Richard? Or perhaps you'd like me to make it easier for you." Darken Rahls voice dipped into a sly tone. "It'll cost you though. Considering you're not here by my conditions there's really not much I could ask for."

"I'm sure you could think of something, " Richard whispered rather sarcastically, but in a moment of thought decided to play along. "What's your price?"

"Oh nothing really, just a trifle. " Darken Rahls voice echoed ominously in that small dank passage.

"Your price, father." Richard gritted his teeth attempting to hold his patience in check.

Darken Rahl stared off into Richards eyes and then ever so slowly leaned toward Richard to within just a hairs width of his face and whispered. "Cara's life."

"Over my dead body," Richard retorted noting the distance now between them.

Darken Rahl feigned surprise, "Oh come now Richard, it's perfectly reasonable, one life for your freedom. Isn't that exactly what you traded for the safety of your firstborn son?"

Richard pivoted and walked away staring off into the darkness of the passage back the way he had come. He remembered the look on Zeds face when his son ordered the girl, Aian was her name, to go with his grandfather after his son had touched her with his power. "Never have I traded one person's life for another's. The girl is safe. There is nothing that can be done for her. The Confessors power is final. I have searched myself for the answer to reversing the spell and so far have found little that will change the outcome. The answer simply isn't within my understanding. You of all people should understand that!"

Darken Rahl clicked his tongue again, "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Richard, you wound me. You think a simple trickery because I was ignorant to what I was dealing with is not valid, but this dilemma of yours, there is an answer and I have it."

"Ignorance isn't an excuse, you taught me that" Richard shot back leaning in as close as he dared to come to the barrier. "Given the circumstances, I am more willing to bargain with a Skrin than I am with you, father." Richard whispered smiling a halfcocked smile.

"You know something don't you Richard, something I do not." Darken Rahl laughed "Oh what a proud father I am. So proud. You are a thousand more times more powerful than I ever was and you accomplished everything I ever set out to acquire. For that alone I am at peace. Yet I will find a way to release the Keeper, Richard, someday." Darken Rahl stared back down the brightly lit hallway just beyond the passage at the other ghostly figure Richard had first taken notice of. The white dress and the smooth way her face resembled that of Richards beloved. "You know, there is some irony to all of this. If you do die here, at least you get to spend the rest of her miserable life with someone that resembles her."

Richards' anger abounded, but he kept it in check. He could feel the twin to his own righteous anger build with it and recognized the swords magic building within him. Then he felt something. A flash of memory of the hall and what it contained, who it contained and the deep melancholy he felt at simply being alive. Then it vanished. At last he stared off down the corridor through the barrier and clearly understood his surroundings.

The fetid breathe and the guttural growling grew and with one swift fluid motion Richard turned to see the feral looking features of the Skrin bearing down on him from out of the darkness. Richard held up his hand allowing the additive and the subtractive to flow equally through him. The Skrin stopped inches from his hand. Its teeth gnashed and long thin talons clawing at the air trying to reach him.

"Hmm, Richard, seems as though you have your hands full. I'll be seeing you Richard," Darken Rahls ominous laughter faded as he vanished back down the corridor and out of sight.

Richard stared at the beast and noted the symbols on the bracer of his right hand glowing. "I am not your enemy, let me pass," he whispered. The Skrins frantic assault silenced and the beast stilled. It regarded him as a pet might its master then as suddenly as it came; it passed through him and vanished. Richard reached out to the barrier and it was no longer there. He let out a deep breath and walked toward the end of the corridor out into the great hall. The moment he passed the threshold of the barrier, the Knowledge and power of the place flowed into him. Time was his. Life was his. Every bit of knowledge and power and more was his to command at his beckoning. All he needed was to think it and it existed.

The arched ceiling and the soaring heights were immensely familiar. Like a distant memory from a dream. He remembered thinking eagles could soar in these lofty places and never be aware they were captive inside a structure. The columns that supported the walls ascending into the remote walls stood like sentries staring out the immense windows that lined the walls of the corridor letting in diffused light. He stood staring up in awe at all of it and then turned to notice the figure in white staring back at him. Clearly a surprised look on her face

She moved through the corridor and alighted before him. "It is good to see you Richard,"

He noticed that imperceptible almost involuntary reaction that humans make when they greet someone they love that they have not seen in a long time. In this place, matter was irrelevant to a ghost. Richard smiled and with a wave of his hand her form changed. Her face no longer transparent, but solid and with substance that belied the beauty she was in life as Kahlans mother and the Mother Confessor. "A gift," he said "for a short time"

She smiled and embraced him, "It is good to see you Richard and how is my daughter?"

Richard smiled at that special smile he loved so much. "She is well, she misses you."

"I miss her too Richard, I miss her too, Why are you here?" She stared at the floor with a forlorn look upon her face. Very uncharacteristic of the Confessors face that he imagined she had worn in life.

Richard ran his fingers through his hair, "Why am I here? I was hoping you could tell me."

She looked up, her eyebrow rose in a quizzical fashion, "I do not know Richard. The Temple of the Winds is in and of itself an entity that I do not fully understand. Only that I exist here beyond the veil is known to me in this place. I was summoned here as were many others."

"The Winds brought me here as well, but one thing is for certain I did not enter through the hall of the betrayed." Richards' ominous tone echoed through the vaulted arched ceilings. He stared down the corridors as they flowed off into the distance, his mind truly at a loss for the purpose of his visit. The knowledge of it was one thing that was not revealed to him; regardless of everything he learned and knew since he had stepped passed the barrier. Magic itself was not the obstacle, but it was the intentions of the Winds to keep him ignorant of its purpose.

Kahlans mother smiled embracing Richard once more. "I must go Richard. The Winds want you to seek the purpose for bringing you here. That much I know. You must do as you have always done. Seek the truth, Richard. "

Richard smiled as she faded from physical form into mist leaving him standing alone in the Great Hall of the Temple of the Winds clearly perplexed. Then it seemed out of the mist, they came. Five figures, four clearly male and the fifth female. Richard stood resolute, hands on hips, his mind clearly identifying who they were. He let them come. There was no doubt in his mind these were the Four Winds and the Seer.


	2. Chapter 2

**TITLE****: **The Winds Return: The Swordsman and the Confessor

**AUT****HOR****: **Robswandering

**CHARACTERS****: **Kahlan Amnell / Cara / Chaylan /

**RATING****: **R / M

**WARNINGS****:** No Warning

**TIMELINE****: **After Season 2, 26 years

**DISCLAIMER****:** This is a creative license to use some of my favorite Programs from Legend of the Seeker Television show and develop a more in depth personal view of one possible future for Richard and Kahlan.

**SUMMARY****:  
><strong>Kahlan and Cara's ongoing journey through the Woods of Westland to reach a destination that will lead them to someone who will help them locate Richard. Accompanied by a young Swordsman, Chaylan, they find that he may be more than meets the eye. Filled with characters from previous adventures who revisit Kahlan and Cara, they must fight through the woods of Westland for their lives to get to their destination and in the process find an old ally to assist with the search for Richard.

The Winds Return

The Swordsman and the Confessor

Chaylan stared out across the valley of noble fir trees. Their large trunks and green branches dotting the landscape as they marched down into the valley and up over the far hills. The scent of pine wafted through the air as he stood up on a formation of boulders that overlooked the valley. Cara closed her eyes and looked up into the rough canopy of the evergreen trees. Chaylan noted the expression on her face. The perfect mirror of a child in blissful contemplation. He flicked a glance at Kahlan, "What is she doing?"

Kaylan laughed a warm and lilting laugh. "It's an exercise Richard taught her. She's 'taking it all in' as he would call it."

"I may have my eyes closed, but I can still hear you." Cara replied. "I'm getting a feel for the area."

Kahlans smile was enough to tell her that she knew better. "Do you 'feel' anything yet, Cara?"

Cara pursed her lips concentrating then relaxed her face once again impassive. "Just Lord Rahls trees."

Chaylan rolled his eyes as he stepped down off the rock formation. "Just over those hills, and through the rocks we'll be at the cove that encloses the harbor of a small coastal town on the coast of Northern Westland." He smiled at Cara and she stared up at him with a deceptively impassive expression. "Do you ever smile Blondie? Or is that something else we're going to have to teach you?" Her momentary reaction seemed as though she would stick her tongue out at him, but it was a mere imperceptible reflex. So she has a personality after all, he thought. "After we reach it, you'll be able to find passage on a ship to Southhaven."

"I don't' recall Richard ever mentioning a town this far north in Westland." Kahlan replied. "There was a town, Hartland as I recall, south of us. I don't think we would find a warm welcome there." She flicked a strand of brown hair behind her right ear as she peered down into the valley and out over the hills.

Cara sniffed. "Do you really think Lord Rahl came this way Mother Confessor?"

"The Wizard… said his trail came west from Aydindril. We haven't found any sign of Richard, Cara. If we need to go anywhere, it's Southhaven." Kahlan sighed. "That I'm sure of."

"Southhaven?" Chaylan passed her some dried meat and then some to Cara. "What makes you so sure your friend-"

"Lord Rahl," Cara interjected. "He is _Lord Rahl_. Master of D'hara."

Kahlan noted the brief glistening moisture that barely cupped the surface of Cara's right eye and then with a blink was gone. Chaylan's relaxed demeanor was like water running off a ducks back with his easy going smile, prominent cheek bones, and feline like grace. It almost seemed as though he lived outside the world around him. There was something about his eyes, so similar to Richards hawk like gaze that hid an ageless appearance behind his gaze she rarely saw in others.

"Lord Rahl" Chay continued, his long white hair flipping back and forth over muscular shoulders still held intricately together with a small leather thong. Kahlan noted that the thong held his hair fast to his skull and not a single strand out of place. "What makes you think Lord Rahl," He emphasized the appellation, but Cara stared off into the distance seemingly disinterested, "will be where you presume he will be?"

"He was a woods guide here in Westland when I first met him. He was known by the name Richard Cypher." Kahlan said as matter of factly.

"I knew a George Cypher," Chaylan's use of the name stopped Kahlan cold. "I haven't seen him in some time. "

"Richards adoptive father. He was killed by Darken Rahl. Before the boundaries came down Richard grew up here in Westland with George Cypher near Hartland. Do you know it?"

"Seat of power for Westland. Ruled by a First Councilor, if memory serves." Chaylan replied,

"That's right. Richards brother Michael was First Councilor." Kahlan added.

"That is, before Lord Rahl killed him." Cara interjected in a tone that conveyed more sarcasm than condolence.

"This Lord Rahl kills all of his family members, or just the important ones?" Chaylan rubbed his chin with thumb and forefinger. He winked when Kahlan eyed him with a sidelong glance.

"Michael betrayed Richard to Darken Rahl, but that's another story for another time," Kahlan's tone was warm, yet instructive, as if she were simply reciting facts, but her sidelong glance at Cara conveyed caution. "Before Richard disappeared, there was a Sorceress from Tamarang in the Peoples Palace who told him to follow his destiny in the West beyond the Rang'Shada Mountains."

"Were those her exact words?" Chaylan's soft tone was instructive and Kaylan could tell he was lost in thought.

"No." Kahlan said giving him a sidelong glance and she pursed her lips as she puzzled his intent. "Why?"

"When dealing with things of magic, especially a Sorceress, it is important to know exactly what is said." He balked noting the look of suspicion. "Or so I've heard."

Kahlan's warm tone softened "When I was young, my mother used to tell me that with things of magic, never assume. Always be certain. I have come to understand over the last few years being with Richard that those words walk a blades edge when it comes to dealing in practical matters of magic."

"That is true, but most common people don't understand rules dealing with Magic. They're either foolish enough to dabble in things of magic they do not understand, or they fear it, often creating bigger problems. In my experience, the latter is almost always true." Chaylan's tone gradually became more of a short staccato of consonants with elongated vowels. It was a subtle difference, but Kahlan recognized the accent much like the accents she had heard as a young girl in Aydindril among the older families.

"Are you saying that you're not one of those Common people?" Kahlan replied.

"Not at all," He laughed, "I simply have the smarts to pay more attention when it concerns things of magic. So," he continued lightly, "What exactly did this mysterious Sorceress say?"

"I wasn't there when she spoke to Richard." Kahlan stared off in the distance remembering the exact words that Richard had said. _Search the winds, to the west of Aydindril across the Rang' Shada, no betrayal shall convey you to the shadow of the Temples Peak._ She gave a mental shrug. "It's what happened after that that's most important."

"I understand…" Chaylan paused, "What is most important?"

"Richard's odd disappearance. He was in one of the libraries when he simply vanished. Like something pulled him away." She wrung her hands taking slow careful steps keeping Cara within sight as she rounded a tree just up ahead.

"He vanished. As in gone, are you sure he didn't just find a secret passage?" Chaylans new accent began to annoy her a little."

"Vanished," Her brow wrinkled remembering the words Rikka had said. _He just vanished. One minute he was standing there and the next. Gone. Right before my eyes. S_he put her hand on his forearm, "You're speaking with an accent now. Not like you did before." Kahlan replied, her words like ringing an alarm. "Where are you really from?"

He sighed, "Catch that did you? My father was a director for a very high Official, and my mother was a healer. I was being groomed for the life of a High borne and thought it was rather dreary so I left. Not much to tell really."

"Almost like someone else I know." She got lost in thought remembering George's face. Her little boy now fully grown into a young man and trying to live down the shadow of his parents. His small hands, the first time he ever confessed, the girls face. How angry and frightened she was. Richards warm consoling words. Chaylans silence was her queue he wouldn't speak any further on the matter.

"Watch the bank, it gets steeper here." Cara called back crouching down and beginning her descent.

"You mind if I go ahead of you?" Chaylan asked, "It's steep, and this terrain is dangerous."

Kaylan smiled, dropping her hand from his forearm, inclining her head to allow him to pass. The slope dropped a bit down to the south around some trees, but it appeared that the trail down the slope had been well travelled as there were handholds for a traveler to keep their balance. Cara rolled her eyes watching Chaylans descent carefully.

"So," He began with a warm tone, "Lord Rahl, vanished. I imagine since he was in a library he was reading. Do you think that might have been the cause of his disappearance?"

She wiped the sweat from her cheek with a kerchief Richard had given her with his initials stitched into the corner. "We looked at every book he had been reading. We discovered they were the same books that Darken Rahl had been reading. We searched them looking for answers as to where Richard might be, but found nothing that would lead us to him."

Chaylans uniquely relaxed manner seemed to turn into a measured feline grace as he walked. "If you don't mind my asking, these books told you what exactly?"

Kahlan cleared her throat clearly stalling for time. She was unsure of Chaylan now. His revelations about magic made him out to be far more than she had first expected. She would have to think carefully about what she would say. "They spoke of a rift that occurred many years ago, prior to the Great War." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but his expression remained unreadable, "Over seven thousand years ago."

"Seven thousand years ago, you say?" Chaylan stepped over a dead log and turned to offer Kahlan a hand over it listening to Cara marching out ahead, "That's a long time." He paused staring off across the valley, then back to Kahlan. "I'm curious if Richard would agree to two vulnerable young women searching alone for him, even if you are a confessor and a…" He gestured toward Cara, "Whatever she is." He turned away from Kahlan finding himself mere inches and toe to toe with Cara, her face unreadable.

"For the last time," She whispered through gritted teeth, "You will address him as Lord Rahl, Master of D'hara." She pressed the Agiel into his side listening for the familiar pop of his ribs. He screamed out, more in surprise than pain as she looked directly into his eyes."You would do well to remember it." Cara grasped his throat with her left hand, the Agiel flicked up to her right." She turned on her heel tripping his left foot out from under him, throwing him off balance as she struck her palm into his chest driving him to the ground. "These young women, as you call them, are hardly vulnerable." Her icy glare scolded him before she turned and stalking off.

Chaylan rubbed his throat, "Master Rahl Protect us," He whispered reciting part of the devotion. "Is she always like this?"

Kahlans smile was almost condescending. "She's not wrong Chaylan and I'm not entirely defenseless either." Kahlan whispered rather conspiratorially as she let a piece of the confessors white dress slip from under her travelling cloak while she helped him up off the ground.

"I see" Chaylan replied, his left eyebrow arching in recognition of the threat. "A Confessor is hardly vulnerable. Although I hardly understand what a single Rift event has to do with you two out here searching for… Lord Rahl. How do you know he's here?"

"The books spoke of a guardian in the west, an ageless protector of power that stands guard over the breach. We do not know what this breach is," Kahlan's voice became very quiet. "We searched some of the other books and Darken Rahl's notes. It says that he found references to someone who knew of the Guardian, the Rift and the Seventh Star shift. That… is who we're searching for."

"So you're searching for someone who may have the location of this Guardian in the hopes that they may lead you to Lord Rahl," He pulled a piece of dried meat from his pack and tearing off a piece handing it to her. "Yet you don't know who that person is only that they are somewhere here in Westland. Is that right?"

"That would be almost accurate." Kahlan smiled angling down past some tall redwood trees and through some shrubs. "We're actually searching for someone I knew many years ago. The last I heard he was in Southhaven."

"Why don't you tell him our master plan Mother Confessor." Cara's sardonic tone called from up ahead. "With luck, he'll try to murder us both and go in search for this guardian you speak of."

"He's been helpful this far Cara, we need to find Richard, before…" her sudden silence brought a meaningful look from Cara that perhaps she was going too far. "Before it's too late."

I'm assuming that Lord Rahl is some relation to this Darken Rahl?" Chaylan replied with the intent to divert the subject quickly.

"His birth father." Kahlan replied feeling a sudden change in the air as if the air around them got crisper and somehow colder. She noted Chaylans expression growing colder, his eyes filling with the same cold rage she'd seen in so many others. "Richard killed Darken Rahl."

"I remember hearing rumors of Darken Rahl. Father Rahl they called him, the benevolent leader." No sooner were Chaylans words out of his mouth than Cara let out an audible huff, backtracking and pushed past him following movement through the trees. She scanned the ground rapidly tracing a trail through the undergrowth.

Chaylan changed course and followed behind her. "George Cypher was jovial and warm. His stories entertained our table one evening when he passed through. If the stories are true and If Richard was raised by George, there's no doubt in my mind he's a good man." He smiled reassuringly, "George is the reason I came to Westland after the boundaries came down. A very unique soul in this world, I'm sorry he passed from it."

"Are you trying to get points for association, swordsman? It will do you no good. The Mother Confessor and I already have husbands." Cara called back over her shoulder as she moved through the tall pine trees and down through a heavily forested area near a small brook. She could hear Chaylans laughter ring through the forest. "Any louder and you'll scare off our dinner." She called back scanning an area of broken shrubs and plants before moving on. She placed the flat of her palm on the trunks of trees as she passed them and intently studied the ground.

"What are you looking for?" Chaylan asked following her line of sight.

"Shhh, Deer. I'd say an hour they passed through here, maybe less." She stopped and turned looking off down the valley and pulled a single strand of hair from her head releasing it into the wind watching it blow away from her face angling down into the valley in line with the deers trail. She growled in frustration knowing the wind would alert the deer to their presence by their scent.

"I didn't take you for a hunter, blondie. Know any other magic tricks?" Chaylan noticed the sudden reflex of her body as if reacting to his offhanded remark. Hardly noticeable but with one fluid motion Cara reached for the bow hanging from her shoulder and slid the string across the belly and into the nock.

"Shhhh." She growled more than whispered, crouching down waving the others behind her to follow. With one swift fluid motion the bow came up, the string drew back, the arrow flew and the deer jumped from the brush with the arrow firmly imbedded in its neck. Cara let out an audible huff of frustrated disappointment. "Come on." She growled.

"Nice Shot Cara," Kahlan called out to her as she followed close on her heels.

"I missed," She growled, "It was alerted to our presence. All this noise spooked it. If not for his blundering back there we wouldn't be chasing after a fleeing deer, we'd be skinning it for dinner."

Kaylan smiled her own private smile. "Still a good shot. Let's go find it."

Cara gave her a sidelong glance and started moving down the hill toward her prey, but Chaylan grabbed Cara by the arm whirling her back around. "Hold up there Blondie." He stared up at the Canopy of Pine trees and then off into the distance.

"What is wrong?" Cara flicked her wrist bringing the Agiel to her hand ready to fend him off, but Chaylan's reflexes surprised Cara when he grasped the end of the rod and pulled it down to the ground bringing her right along with it. A momentary flick of an arched eyebrow gave any indication of her surprise that he was painfully being affected by the Agiels magic. She could feel it coursing through his body, but he didn't show any indication the magic affected him.

Chaylan held a finger to his lips and motioned for them to look in the crook of two hollowed out trees some distance off. A group of clawed and furry long tailed gars huddled together startled by the fleeing deer. He held up six fingers reiterating the number of Gars huddled together and removing the blade from its scabbard he moved off to the left circling around the Gars.

Cara grasped Kahlans arm and slowly moved back towards the trees. They all stopped dead as a branch snapped under Cara's heel. Chaylan winced, shaking his head in disbelief. Cara could see the sudden change in the Gars attention which was now focused on their hiding place.

"Mother Confessor, stay here!" She growled coming out from behind the trunk of a live oak evergreen, drew back and put an arrow into the skull of the largest beast. It gave off a sickening howl, the slick belly still covered with blood flies as it dropped to the ground. The other gars seeing the woman in brown leather came bounding toward her. She realized it was far too late for her to notch another arrow, so she stood, feet planted, Agiel in hand waiting for the Gars.

The long tailed gars howled, wings frantically flapping, jaws slavering, claws outstretched to meet their prey. Cara watched it all in slow motion, senses heightened, the gars leaping and bounding until with one swift movement she caught a glimmer of silver light flashing from the corner of her eye.

"Ayyyyyyiiiaaooooooo!" Chaylan charged, the head of the first long tailed gar sailed past Cara and its body coming to rest at her feet. The Gars quickly changed direction, wailing and growling as Chaylan reappeared in the midst of the group moving with feline grace and ferocity, his blade glimmering. He barely avoided the jaws of one of the gars crushing his skull and disemboweled another with a fluid strike of his blade. His slow fluid grace seemed too slow, but every time it seemed the Gars had him with the swipe of a claw or within the reach of those needle sharp jaws he seemed to slide past the danger and slash with the blade. Moving, dancing, and slashing. With one final thrust all was silent. The bodies of six gars lie motionless on the forest floor.

Chaylan stood stock still, sword still raised horizontal to the ground and parallel to his eyes. Finally the danger averted, he relaxed lowering the blade to the forest floor and then turned back to Cara. "I don't know if that was bravery, or blind stupidity, Blondie. You're lucky you survived."

Cara's sidelong smirk coupled with a passive expression, "You know Swordsman, you're going to an awful lot of work, but I'm not impressed." Cara stalked past him to pull her arrow from the skull of the gar. She gazed up at the sky, and drew the arrow back with the string, "Oh look, more fun."

Dark shadows broke the rays of sunlight funneling through the tree canopy overhead as five more gars, their tails prominently shorter than those of the first six, landed as one in a clearing no more than fifty feet from them. Chaylan's blade flashed up instantly in a defensive posture as the tallest lunged for him. For a split second man and beast measured one another seemingly frozen in time before they moved. Kahlan realized something wasn't quite right when she noticed the familiar leather thong and pouch that used to hang around Richards neck.

"GRATCH Nooooo!" Kahlan cried, her breathing ragged, she raced between the dueling man and beast.

"Mother Confessor, Noooo" Cara grunted as she dove for Kahlan, but was too far out of reach as Kahlan ran into the path of Chaylans whistling blade. She watched the horrific scene unfold. Chaylans sword passed through the air and as if hitting a wall changed direction sliding sideways narrowly missing Kahlans throat. Her look of surprise turned to relief as her arms wrapped around Gratch's midsection throwing him back and off balance away from the blade. Gratch lifted her off her feet gargling with laughter while showing her a rather large and hideous grin full of needle sharp rows of teeth.

"Riiichhhuuuurrrrgggg!" Gratch howled, hugging her to him. "Richuurrg Lug."

"Yes, yes! Gratch, yes." Kahlan cried out gleefully, "Yes, I know you love Richard. Put me down please."

Gratch gently lowered Kahlan to her feet and shook his head pointing to the leather thong that held a lock of Kahlans hair around his chest, then to Kahlan. "Richuurgg Lug."

"Yes Gratch, I am Richards love." Her throaty laughter set the other gars at ease, yet she could see they were still poised to pounce. She wrapped her arms around him once again to show his companions her good intentions, but also just as quickly released him before he picked her up again. "Gratch, I'm sorry," She waved off a blood fly. "Richard is missing. We're trying to find him."

Gratch held up a clawed finger motioning for her to wait. His wings folded back, his tall frame seemed to hunch as he stepped over to the bodies of the long tailed gars. With tentative slow movements he placed a claw to each of the gars chests before letting out a guttural growl then a whining cry followed by the staccato clucking of his teeth and another gurgle.

"He's calling each by name saying farewell. It's their way. You have some strange friends Blondie." Chaylan whispered while sliding the oiled cloth across the crusted blade of his sword. "Any other friends I should know about with fangs and teeth and wings that might come falling in from the sky?"

Cara smiled. "Lord Rahl is a friend to all creatures. He even has a pet dragon."

"A dragon you say?" Chaylan whispered, the soft incredulous sound almost music to her ears.

"Yes, a red one." Cara replied, the self-satisfied smile still firmly affixed.

"A red dragon. Dangerous beasts, I should like to meet this Lord Rahl who befriends Gars and dragons." He slid the sword back in its scabbard, his expression unreadable.

Kahlan was remarkably touched by the formality of the ceremony. It didn't dawn on her that the Gars would have a formal ceremony to honor their dead, but Gratch's display with the tender touches and the low growls, clicking noises, and guttural roars gave her sufficient reasoning that Gars are far more than she had first been led to believe. At last Gratch came to the last Gar and snarled at the disemboweled body lying in the rapidly turning leaves. He stared at the body, his soft tone gurgling a sound of absolute sadness.

Gratch stared back at the three humans standing together, his attention now focused on Chaylan and the hilt of the sword a striking backdrop to the man's long white hair, curved muscular features and the hawk like gaze staring defiantly back at him. Gratch's lips peeled back in a threatening gesture and then the soft gurgling mews of sadness as he turned back to the disemboweled body. Gratch's eyes drifted to Kahlan and Cara, his lips peeling back once again in a threatening growl.

"Is he going to cry or kill us?" Kahlans soft apprehensive whisper was almost the only sound.

"It appears," Chaylan replied, "he is torn between the two. I don't understand myself as I have never witnessed such a display from a Gar. I assume that he is torn between the two extremes. We should know momentarily."

"Let's hope that he loves Lord Rahl more than he cares for his own kind." Cara interjected as she slowly pulled the leather straps holding the long bladed dagger at the small of her back.

Kahlan moved closer to Cara and closed over Cara's hand now brandishing the hilt of the blade, "I'm inclined to agree Cara, but discretion is necessary in this case."

Cara relented, her hand dropping from the hilt and her Agiel dropping from her grip to hang by the chain attached to her wrist.

"Gratch." Kahlans voice was cool and calm. Her face filled with sorrow over seeing the sadness mirrored on the Gars face. "Gratch."

Gratch met her gaze and stared sullenly back at her. His clawed fingers opening and closing as his chest heaved. It appeared the longer he stood over the body, the more excited he became. Cara noted the same tense expressions on the faces of the other Gars. They all seemed to slowly crouch as if ready to pounce.

"Gratch, I am deeply sorry for your loss." Kahlan swallowed hoping she was getting through to him. She maintained her even composure and tender voice. "Gratch, they gave us no choice. They attacked before we had the chance to-"

Gratch growled ferociously, his lips peeling back to show hideous needle sharp teeth, his attention entirely focused on Kahlan. The growl finally subsided and he stared back down at the corpse lying in the leaves. With one final grunt he scooped out entrails and blood wiping it on his stomach and turned back to the small group of humans.

It was an immediate change at first, the solemn sadness, then an impassive stare, finally after eyeing Chaylan for a moment, his lips pulled back into a menacing snarl, the guttural beginning of a roar in his throat. His wings unfurled showing thin veins traveling through nearly transparent membranes. In a flying leap he bounded. Chaylan stood still as stone, his face expressionless watching the advancing Gar.

"No! Gratch!" Kahlan cried tried to get between the man and the Gar, but Chaylan moved to bar her way with his arm. Cara's Agiel lunged forward in her already outstretched arm and Chaylan grasped the end of the rod maintaining his still posture accepting the pain the Agiel delivered.

"Gramoahr," Chaylans even tone was a growling roar. Gratch's ferocity faltered as he processed the word. Chaylan bowed his head, eyes to the ground, and placed his palms together in front of his chest and bent to one knee. "Ho'Maija Gramoahr."

As quickly as Gratch had covered the few feet between them his wings folding back and for a brief moment a look of confusion shadowed his face before changing to an impassive expression that Kahlan could not read. He placed a fur covered claw on Chaylan's shoulder and lightly squeezed. When Chaylan rose and looked up at him, he smiled that hideous smile with rows of needle sharp teeth.

Chaylan bowed his head and moved off through the forest moving away down the hill toward where the deer had run. "We had better go," He called "If we want to catch it by nightfall."

"What just happened?" Kahlan asked bewildered. She sidled up to Cara, a look passing between them that Cara did not miss.

"Mother Confessor," Cara stole a glance back the way that Chaylan had gone. "After marrying Ben, I have long decided that sometimes male customs are simply beyond my understanding."

"There are times when I feel the same about Richard," Kahlan sighed and stared into the face of an old friend who smiled back with that hideous grin. "This is something else entirely. Do you think perhaps he has magic?"

"None as far as I can tell, I would feel it." Cara replied trying to remember all the times she touched him with her Agiel.

"This isn't adding up, but we have to find Richard." Kahlan turned back to the large Gar that stood almost three heads taller than her and weighed another two hundred stone more. "Have you seen Richard, Gratch?"

Gratch shook his head, his ears slowly drooping and his lips in what appeared to be his best mimic of a frown.

"It's okay Gratch." She ruffled his fur and his hideous grin reappeared, wings flapping. "What did he say to you? The man with the sword," She pointed the way that Chaylan had gone.

Gratch gave her a confused expression and then pointed back the way that Chaylan had gone and then north east toward the northern edge of what was once the Midlands, but now through Richards actions had become the part of the Empire of D'hara.

"He's from the North?" Kahlan's voice was calm, her confessors face firmly affixed.

Gratch's affirmative response was enough to confirm, but he held up his claws as if brandishing a sword and then pointed at Cara's Agiel.

"He hurt your… your family. Yes, Gratch.. I'm sorry, Cara is sorry-" Kahlan stopped speaking when a clawed hand clamped down over her mouth as he shook his head no. When she stared up at him he repeated the gesture and grabbed the end of Cara's Agiel. His recoiling howl set the other gars on edge as they all crouched in a menacing posture ready to pounce, but Gratch turned and quieted them with a growl of his own.

"This fun game is going to get us killed, Mother Confessor," Cara's acidic tone was clear, but Gratch's growl and Kahlans impassive stare brought the desired response.

Kahlans brows rose in comprehension, "The sword, the sword hurts like Cara's Agiel."

Gratch's ears perked up, he nodded and his mouth dropped in a hideously larger grin than before.

"I don't understand Gratch," Kahlan ran her fingers through her hair as she got lost in thought. "He's not a Mord Sith. He's just a man we met here in Westland. He isn't even a wizard."

Gratch's stare was undeniably like the expression Richard would give her when she wasn't quite seeing the truth of something, as if she was unavoidably trying to deny what was right in front of her.

Kahlan recoiled a little at the similarity. "Don't look at me like that Gratch."

Gratch patted her head and pointed a furry clawed finger at his temple. She watched carefully as he put his claw above his eyes as he stared out over the valley to mimic searching for something. "Richuurrg, drrruuuttthhh.."

"I will Gratch." Kahlan smiled somewhat incredulous at the communication and Gratch touched the leather thong around his neck. She ruffled his fur and he picked her up hugging her to him, barely able to breath. "Gratch, Gratch," She laughed in spite of herself when he gently placed her back on the ground. "Will you help us find Richard Gratch? Help us find him?"

"Richhhuurrrg." Gratch gurgled.

"Yes Gratch, help us find him. Please Gratch." Kahlan called stepping away from him before he decided to pick her up and hug her to him again.

"Graaaaatch find Richurrrggg." He placed a clawed fist to his heart before turning back around to the other Gars.

"Ok Mother Confessor, this Gar is starting to make sense, I think we've spent enough time with Lord Rahl's playmates. It's time to go." Cara grabbed Kahlan's arm hauling her down into the valley after Chaylan.

"Thank You Gratch!" Kahlan called waving back to him before turning and following Cara down into the Valley.

Gratch turned to the two smallest short tailed Gars and released a series of Growls. They seemed to involuntarily straighten and then replied with a guttural affirmation before unfurling their wings and launching themselves into the air. Gratch watched them circle over the valley heading the direction that Cara and Kahlan had gone. Gratch stared east and sniffed the air before launching himself into the air, the other gars right behind him and flying in slow lazy circles east toward Aydindril.

Cara and Kahlan found Chaylan standing over the deer at the bottom of the hill. It had dropped down into a shallow creek bed, finally exhausted and too weak to continue running as the blood poured from its neck. Chaylan lifted it and started back up the hill. He let the deer settle onto his shoulders as he moved up the other side of the valley.

"We'll be safe once we get to the top of those hills." He inclined his head to the west denoting a group of hills covered in trees, with the exception of the top where appeared to be a clearing. "There's a small cave just on the other side. We can make camp and eat before we begin the trek down into town."

Cara gave Kahlan a passing glance as she moved passed the mother Confessor to keep distance between her and Chaylan. She watched his muscles ripple with the added weight of the deer he'd placed on his back supported by his pack. Kahlan pulled Cara back watching Chaylan move on up the hill through the trees.

"Did you understand what he said to Gratch?" Kahlans confessor face mirrored Cara's Mord sith.

"I have never heard Gars addressed in that way Mother Confessor. Darken Rahl communicated with Gars to send them out to assassinate targets, but never in any other language but magic. It's possible it's an ancient dialect of High D'haran. Berdine would know more than I about such things."

"I don't like this, Cara. Chaylan is not what we thought. At first, I wasn't quite certain, but after... after seeing Gratch, there's something not quite right about this man. Gratch wanted me to seek Richard, seek the truth. I'll write to Berdine in the Journey book and see what she says for now, if nothing else, we should be more careful"

"Aren't I always Mother Confessor?" Cara's broad grin made Kahlan uneasy. She stepped past Kahlan and fell into a trot, pulling the string from her bow and securing it with a thong to her leather pack.


	3. Chapter 3

**TITLE****: **The Winds Return: A Confessors Destiny

**AUTHOR****: **Robswandering

**CHARACTERS****: **Richard Rahl / Kahlan Rahl / George Zeddicus Rahl / Chaylan /

**RATING****: **R / M

**WARNINGS****:** No Warning

**TIMELINE****: **After Season 2, 26 years

**DISCLAIMER****:** This is a creative license to use some of my favorite Programs from Legend of the Seeker Television show and develop a more in depth personal view of one possible future for Richard and Kahlan.

**SUMMARY****:  
><strong>George Zeddicus Rahls continuing journey at the Wizard's keep leads him to face his past in an effort to allow him to overcome the fears of his destiny. His destiny begins anew with the introduction of a mysterious Wizard who leads him through the obstacles he must face to reach his destiny. George is surprised as this journey at the Wizards keep leads him face to face with an old friend in a place he least expected.

The Winds Return

A Confessors Destiny

Shadows breaking through the darkness with eyes the color of an orange sunrise behind black visors with face guards. The methodical, rhythmic clinking of armor moved out of the darkness with blades illuminating a vibrant red glow in stark contrast to the black armor and visors. The scene played out a Mord Sith in red leather, moving, ducking, and parrying each blow. The Agiel spun brushing up against the skin of a hand, an exposed chin, jabbing into the eye of a visor causing the wearer to stagger backward in pain and cry out.

The daggers of the Confessor spun wildly with the sleeves of the confessors dress. Her dark hair flipping wildly over her shoulders as she slashed and cut, dove, parried blows and with one swift graceful movement replaced one blade in its sheath at her belt. She reached out with outstretched fingers catching the exposed hand of a particularly large warrior. Thunder without sound amidst the cacophony of battle those familiar words. "Mistress, Command me."

Her teeth gritted she pulled him to her face and screamed. "Protect me!"

"As you Command, Mistress." He no sooner said than he was spinning about and hacking wildly with his sword upon his companions opening up a new front of battle. The blade flipped and spun goring all who got near as men rushed from the darkness to meet the new challenge. The confessor stopped, swaying from side to side slightly, her face no longer a haze with her long brunette hair and her features of warm beauty. Shaking her head as if shaking off an annoyance she rubbed sweat from her brow and gathered what strength she could muster she pulled the dagger from her belt to face the horrors of the darkness.

A sword flashed from the darkness, its hilt black as night with a black glassy marble rock inlaid in the Pommel. The cross guard inlaid with the black scales of those resembling a serpent, each end tapering to the points of a blade. The length of the blade formed from the cross guard was inlaid with the same black scales a quarter of the way up the blade, tapering off into a steel blade glowing red and blue along its length like lightning. The blade fell slashing from head to breast, the blood pouring from her face and body the Confessor fell on her knees and the Sword stood poised again over her to bring a another slashing blow across her shoulders. Only moments before it reached her she stared up with stark relief as it sliced through her and she disappeared in a cloud of blood and smoke. All that remained of the darkness was a man. A man with high cheek bones, a hawk like gaze with blood red glassy eyes and long blood red hair held back with a leather thong.

"MOTHER!" George Rahl screamed waking in a cold sweat. The cool night air wafted in from the window beating against his bare chest and the slow realization that he was back in the Wizards keep was enough to give him some relief. He relaxed lifting himself from the bed and walked across the room to the bowl of cool water, splashing his face he stared at himself in the mirror. The lines of age seemed to draw like rivers across a map on his young face.

"Just a dream," He whispered closing his eyes. He rubbed them with the palms of his hands trying to pull the sleep and that foggy sense of dizziness that plagued him when the dreams came.

"Dreams are answers too, you know." A weary old voice spoke amidst the darkness.

George spun in the direction of the voice, his arm outstretched. "Holy Creator, Who's there? Who are you?" Rivulets of sweat ran down his brow as his skin felt the icy breeze blowing in through the open window.

"Don't fear boy," A shadowy figure sitting in a small chair at a table near the doorway stood up and with a flick of his hand, the candle wick came to life tossing shadows across the room splashing light onto a face worn with age. His long white beard cascaded down his chest coming to a point at just below his knees. Even from this far George Rahl could see that his robes were plain brown wool without ornament or flash.

"Who are you? Why have you been watching me sleep?" The slightest flavor of suspicion and circumspection colored his tone.

"You may call me Wizard Voren. I have come to more than watch you sleep boy?" Vorens face half in shadow half in light seemed to brighten momentarily. "I've come to see the young Wizard that has the keep in such an uproar. It's not every day that a new charge comes to the keep. Unless of course you'd prefer to simply be referred to as 'Confessor'." He chuckled in spite of himself, his laughter seemed infectious, but George found it difficult to catch on. "Actually these days it's most every other week, but who's counting."

"You didn't answer the question. Why have you been watching me sleep? " George asked trying to make his tone a little more serious.

"Actually boy, I was observing you dream. Which is to say I wasn't really watching you at all." He chuckled again.

"What do you mean you weren't really watching me at all?" George flipped a chair from around the table and sat down, putting a piece of cheese to his lips he bit down. "Observing is the same as Watching."

"To observe," Voren placed both hands firmly atop his cane leaning forward, the intensity of his blue eyes incredible to behold. "To observe, is to study something with the intent of drawing a conclusion, but to watch is simply that, to look without the intent of drawing a conclusion or derive a purpose from it." The silence permeated the room for brief moment before Voren cleared his throat. "You ask far too many questions, and you do not listen nearly enough."

"Hmmmphh, I hear you just fine, Wizard." The audible resignation complemented his look of apathy as he took another bite of cheese.

"Yet another misconstruction on your part boy." Voren placed his hand on top of the other obscuring the handle of his cane. "To listen and to hear are two entirely different things."

"Bags, Wizard! What is with the linguistic sparring match?" George stared off into the darkness beyond the light that cast by the flickering candle.

"You say little of what you mean, and you mean little of what you say, young Rahl. You speak, but you have no power. You have power, but no direction. The least of which may not kill you, but it will certainly lead to the deaths of those you love." Vorens raspy voice eerily echoed throughout the confines of the small gray slate granite room.

"What do you know about my power Wizard?" George leaned forward, his condemnatory tone rose in volume spitting the words across the table, "It's a Curse! For I will never know love, never know peace, I will always stand in the shadows of my parents." George felt his anger growing with the crescendo if his voice. "So tell me something Wizard. You don't answer questions directly, but instead you lecture me on words themselves. Are you a drunkard, a fool, or quite simply the last of your generation who got the short end of the broomstick when it came to magic?"

Voren tapped his cane to the floor once. The resounding sound echoed off the walls and George found himself floating in the air. The chair no longer supporting his weight, he spun up into the air flipping and spinning end over end.

"Stop! Put me down! You bag of fungus. STOP!" George screamed and cursed as he floated around the room unable to stop himself.

"So, young Rahl, heir to the line of great Wizards who passed before you and even greater the Confessors who have protected this land for thousands of years, what say you stop yourself? Control your destiny!" Voren chuckled watching him spin helplessly around the room.

"Frag you Wizard! Stop this!" George smacked into the dressing table knocking the bowl of cool water to the stone floor smashing its porcelain shape to pieces. "Ouch! Stop this! Stop… Please. I beg you please."

"Humility now… Interesting." The Wizard stroked his bearded chin. "It's a simple web boy, easy enough for you to get out of."

George hit the wall sprawling across the bed falling onto the stone floor on the other side. He got to his feet jabbing a finger at Voren, "What is this Wizard?! How dare you?! I am the heir to the throne of D'hara! A Confessor, a powerful Wizard! I am…"

Voren sat still as a stone gargoyle staring at the red faced effusive young man barely able to string a few words together. His impassive gaze fueled Georges rage as he stared up at him from his chair at the table. "Well boy, what will you do with all of that rage? You who declare to all but in this room you have the power to move mountains, control thousands and rule over the entire new world. Yet, you can't muster the strength to release yourself from a string web. Such a simple spell really and yet you cursed and called and whooped your way into a frenzy of anger and frustration. Only when you had finally failed all other means at your disposal did you attempt to exert your power through claims of hereditary birthright. Tsk, tsk, tsk, boy."

George stood heaving with each breath, chest rising and falling, fists clenched tight as he stared down at Voren. "You.. You…" he could barely form a sentence as he stumbled over his own thoughts. Then a rational thought pierced the cold rage and he sat heavily in the chair opposite Voren. "You're… right old man. I'm not a leader, I'm not a ruler, I'm not a wizard and I don't want to be a Confessor."

"Retreat is your position, is it?" Vorens left eyebrow twitched over a penetrating blue eye. He chuckled once again to himself, "Yet… you have the potential to be a leader, a ruler, a wizard and a Confessor. You have the tools to make each of those a reality, if only you have the will to hone and sharpen those skills like a soldier polishes his armor and sharpens his weapons."

"Enough! You are here 'observing me dream', but you're not watching me sleep. You've talked in circles about the meaning of words, tossed me through the air like a Childs doll to demonstrate that I am nothing compared to your immense power. What is your purpose for being here?" Before giving Voren a chance to respond George discarded the thought waving his hand in the air as if to wave away a fly. "Never mind, you can leave me alone. Let me be."

Vorens blue eyes followed George as he stepped away from the table and flopped on the bed dragging the sheets back up over his head. "You can't hide from your destiny any more than you can hide from me, Young Rahl."

"Hide from you?" George pulled the sheet back and looked over at Voren, "Hide from you? What makes you think I want to hide? My destiny? My father has taught me all my life is that we make our own destiny, that we control our purpose in life, so who are you to speak of my destiny?"

"You forget boy, men of power who fail to act are all to blame for what befalls those who cannot protect themselves." Voren thumped his cane on the stone floor. George hadn't noticed it till now, but the handle of the cane resembled a visor, black and imposing with orange rubies imbedded behind eye slits just like the swordsmen in his dream.

George tossed the covers from the bed and edged closer to Voren careful not to draw attention to his newfound vested interest in the handle of Vorens cane. "You fail to understand, I was not the right one to be born to this. I never wanted it." He pulled another piece of cheese from the plate and no sooner brought it to his lips did the end of Vorens cane flip it out of his hand with a hard thrashing. "Ouch! Frag you Wizard!"

The serious look on Vorens face could not be missed and George stared in awe as the power within him seemed to radiate off him like steam rising from boiling water. "It would be best if you watched your words and your tone boy. I am still a Wizard, and you are a guest in my home."

"I am sorry, but I have chosen my destiny, I am too dangerous to be allowed to wield such power. I was taught of prophecy, spells, magic, and even my confessors' power. I remember reading the stories and historical texts on those dark days when male confessors raged unchecked. Women fell before their dark desires and I am one of those unfortunate creatures. I cannot in good conscience release such a curse upon the world again."

"You, boy are an heir to a much more important power." The Wizards hardened look accentuated his raspy voice.

"What power Wizard? What other power do I have, because I am lost to it? Tell me, will it nullify everything I hate about me? Will it bring back Aian?" George shook his head placing it in his hands. "I was powerless to stop one mistake. Powerless to bring back one and I refuse to risk making another."

"You cannot let one mistake force you into inaction or you allow yourself to make more mistakes. Some you may not even know exist, but even so they have catastrophic results." Voren stood placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "A Contradiction cannot exist in Reality. Not in part or in whole and willfully turning aside from the Truth is treason to one's self."

"I know the Wizards rules." George said, staring up at the slate gray ceiling. "I have been taught those rules since I was old enough to walk."

"Then when will you start listening with your head as well as your heart?" Vorens wispy hair flipped back and forth as he spoke. "It's a travesty that one such as you with so much power, so much ability, so much potential fails to see how those rules apply to you when it comes to choosing your own destiny. "

"What if I become what I fear the most? What if I become drunk with power and choose a path that will lead us straight into oblivion." George ran his fingers through his hair, turning to stare at his reflection in the mirror on the dressing table. "I don't see myself becoming a great Wizard, much less the first Male Confessor to ever use his power without it corrupting him."

"You have failed to understand the very core of the Truth my boy. You are too busy thinking about the problem and losing sight of the solution." Voren stroked his bearded chin. The sound of his cane tapping the stone floor echoed throughout the room as he paced to the arched doorway. "I might have just the thing to help."

"What might that be Wizard?" George yawned watching Voren shuffle through the archway disappearing into the passage beyond.

"If you wish to know, you will simply have to follow. It will be the only way to save your parents, your people, and yourself, Young Rahl." Vorens voice echoed back down the passage and into the room.

George sighed, "Nothing is ever easy." He jogged through the archway and down the dark passage after Vorens tap, tap, tapping cane.

Voren led him up through the labyrinthine passages of the keep over, under, and around the ramparts that made up the serpentine quarters of wizards for generations. He took him down into the dark recesses until they came to a long chamber with four marble pillars bathed in light surrounded by darkness that ran its length. At the end of the passage was a daïs that stood with hanging tapestries to each side and seats arranged in a semi-circle, much like the counselors chambers in the Confessors Palace.

"You're life depends on one thing from this point on, young Rahl." The Wizard whispered turning back to him. "Simply put, it depends on 'truth'. You will be tested and tried and when all is done, you will have to choose if those voices inside your head that deter you from your greater destiny are telling true or not."

"I get the sudden feeling that I am not going to enjoy this." George whispered morosely to himself staring down at the stone floor that lay mostly in a subdued darkness that permeated the rest of the room. The pillars standing in the distance that gave off an indistinct glow. The light only reaching a few feet in all directions as the darkness closed in on them. George stepped one booted foot behind Voren shuffling toward the first pillar, the tapping of his cane echoing as he walked. The darkness pressing in about them changed to a dull greenish fog rising up before them.

"Step where I step, do not venture off into the darkness." Voren called back as he moved on toward the first Pillar.

"Why?" George asked his tone filled with awe as he stared up into the darkness watching shapes moving just indistinctly just beyond the light.

"We must pass through the underworld to reach our destination." Voren replied so quietly that George could barely make it out.

George put a hand on the Wizards shoulder to stop him. "The underworld. Wait a minute you didn't say anything about passing through the underworld."

"Come, you cannot turn back now, and we must keep moving or the dead will pull us into the Underworld." Voren resumed his steps moving with a measured pace toward the first dimly lit pillar standing just before them.

George hesitated for a moment and staring off into the vibrant green mist that barely concealed the darkness, but the light from the pillars didn't allow for his sight to grow accustomed to make out distinct shapes moving just beyond. The voices began to call to him as he stood there attempting to get his bearings. They gently lulled him to restful sleep, calling him, desiring him to join them in their blissful solitude. He stepped into the wall of darkness away from Voren and a pale white hand suddenly reached out from the darkness grabbing his wrist.

"What? Who's there?" George yelled pulling away from the grasping hand, but it held fast. The voices sang to him and he could make out the indistinct features of a dark figure attempting to drag him through the vibrant green veil and into the darkness.

"Not yet, you will have your turn." Voren yelled rapping his cane on the hand that grasped Georges wrist. It released its grasp rapidly fading back into the darkness. "Stay with me, young Rahl, or you will surely die."

George nodded and for moment, the sing-song voices of those beyond the green veil seemed to scream out in panic. "What do you mean by they'll have their turn?" George whispered placing a hand on the Wizards shoulder maintaining his pace.

"For now, we focus on the matter at hand, young Rahl. Look the first Pillar stands before us." They stepped into the light of the first Pillar, its dull white glow brightening to a shimmering pale white radiance. "This pillar stands for Truth. It is the representation of existence. To deny truth, is to walk in madness and oblivion. If you choose truth, you must exclude all else." Voren tapped his cane along the bottom of the Pillar. "You faced the darkness to reach Truth. Darkness has no place here in the light of Truth."

"Who tried to grab me in the darkness back there?" George asked studying the webbed white marble appearance of the Pillar. The light seemed to radiate from it of its own accord.

"That my boy, is the obstacle itself. It must be met, it cannot be avoided or reasoned with, but only truth can defeat it. Only Truth is your best defense against it." Voren moved on back into the shadow of the light toward the next pillar. George felt the darkness begin to close around him once more, the vibrant green mist drawing up like a veil before his eyes as he kept pace. Out of the darkness she came, as vibrant and beautiful as the last time he had seen her.

"My son, my beloved son." The white confessors dress shimmered waving in a breeze that wasn't there. Her long dark hair cascading down her back and those green eyes that stared into his face for what seemed like hours when he was a boy. She was a sight he longed for and for a moment George turned to wrap himself in her arms, longing to feel her lips on his brow.

"No, young Rahl, that is not your mother," Voren whispered barring his way. He struggled to get around the cane, but the air had grown thick and impenetrable. The Wizard pointed at the vision in the darkness and shook his head. When he turned to look once again at the vision of his mother, she stood in her white Confessors dress against the darkness holding out her arms as if begging him to come. The green veil lightened and he caught a glimpse as light flashed from the second Pillar illuminating the area around where she stood pleading with him. From behind her the sword reached out from the darkness driving through her form and splitting her in two.

"Noooo Mother," George racked with sobs as tears streamed down his cheeks, "Nooo. Is this the truth that I have to face Wizard? Is this her destiny?" The second pillar loomed before him bathed in pale light that turned a radiant shade of green like his mother's eyes. The radiant green colors seemed to vibrate and pulse with the beating of his heart.

"This Pillar represents the result of your action or inaction. It is the defining moment in every Wizards life when they either simply follow a predetermined route to its inevitable conclusion or to define the conclusion to serve the best interests of all. Not to change the truth, but to mold its route, sculpt its features, and most importantly to be deserving of the Victory that comes from choosing one's own destiny.

George looked back toward the darkness where his mother's likeness was destroyed. "To choose Victory? Where is the Victory in letting my mother die?" He stared at the last two pillars and grabbed hold of the Wizards robes. "I can't Wizard. I can't continue."

"You must. You have already made it this far. To turn back is to divest yourself of the truth you know you must face and in that be lost to the underworld." The wizard patted his arm and gave him an empathetic smile.

"Alright, lead on." George replied not missing the sly smile spreading across the old Wizards face. The last two pillars stood at the end of the long passage like torches amidst the darkness. George found himself drawn along the passage as they inched ever closer to the yellow pale illumination of the third pillar.

From the darkness a bright light illuminated a long passage with bookcases. He recognized its foliage and tall spires, the gentle creek that ran around a large stone that stood upright in a field of white sand. It was one of the gardens in the Peoples Palace. There upon the sand, stood Aian, dressed in a long white tunic and tan breeches, with open sandals and ties that wrapped around her ankles. She stood arms outstretched and that beautiful face brightly smiling with the light of that gorgeous smile reflected in her eyes. She inched closer toward them with every passing moment. Georges heart beat faster in his chest and he felt a sharp bolt of elation as he listened to her sing-song voice lilting through the air, begging him to join her. He watched as with every step she took closer to them her features became less distinct, her mouth, her nose, and her eyes, slowly dissolving and dripping from her face like liquid. What was left was nothing but a blank slate of skin with shallow indention where those features once held prominence.

George stared in horror as her disembodied voice echoed inside his head, "Command me, Master. Command me, Master." The repetition became difficult to bear as her outstretched fingertips pleaded with him. Finally with tears rolling down his cheeks he managed to turn and find himself standing before the third Pillar. The dull yellow glow of the Pillar changed to a radiant gold.

"This stands for the future," George whispered looking up at it. He felt the familiar presence of the Wizard at his side staring up at the colossal pillar with him. "Life is the future, not the past. There is no future without the radiating truths of our experience and knowledge."

Voren patted his arm. "Exactly right my boy, exactly right. Come, we must go.

Out of the darkness the vision opened before them. The facade of a building tall and imposing with two tall black Pillars standing before the entryway, engraved with gold symbols running their length. Two Raven black granite twin Skrin guardians on a stone wall stared back at him. The Skrin were statues, but as the lightning flashed it revealed the hideous creatures they truly were. George stared not daring to take another step, but as he watched the facade the doors opened and his father stepped up the stairs passing the two guardians to go inside. He watched the tall familiar imposing figure of Richard Rahl disappear inside and then as he stared up toward the upper levels of the building, he saw them. They were Five, they were watching him. Four males dressed in robes of different colors and the fifth, a female, her face covered in scripts and adorned with amulets and charms.

The doors closed behind his father and the figures standing on the upper levels stared down at him. Then without warning, the place seemed to come alive and shimmer into a solid structure before tumbling down as if it slid right off the side of a cliff straight into oblivion with his father still inside.

"Father!" The currents and eddies of power of the place whipped around them, but tousled his hair, causing Vorens robes to flap furiously around him. George simply stared, his tears continuing to roll down his cheeks. He now stood in front of the fourth and final Pillar which now turned a shade of brown marble that glistened warmly as if water ran down the outside of its surface. He felt the warmth emanating from the stone. Ahead lit a daïs upon which stood a sword bathed in light unlike any he had ever seen. Its silver steel blade etched with symbols in a language that George had never seen. The cross guard silver inlaid with gold wrapped around it. The hilt wrapped in soft leather and the visor shaped pommel with orange rubies laid into the eye slits stared back with an illumination unlike he had ever seen.

Voren stood at the base of the daïs pointing up at the sword as it danced vertically upon the platform bathed in white light. His blue eyes glowed ominously as his voice echoed throughout the chamber.

Born of White and Wizards cloth,

To fight the ancient evil of Old,

Darkness comes with Iron Wroth,

Blade of pain and blood as bold,

To stay the beasts of ancient days,

Search the one with hair of white,

For the one in red shall once repay,

The Winds return without respite.

"What does all of this have to do with me?" George pleaded, his body literally exhausted and the weakness he felt only matched the intensity of the pain. Voren stood staring back at him impassively.

"The ways of the Fates are not kind, my boy. They often don't give us the freedom we want to live as we please. Most importantly, the creator gives power to those who can handle the responsibility, but seldom choose not to. It is only the select few who choose to cause havoc and chaos, but it seems those are the moments we remember the most." Vorens words were kind and gentle.

"I get it, I'm a Wizard and a Confessor and that power goes far beyond my understanding, but this." Georges words began to jumble together as he ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. "I have no idea how to be either of those things. I've spent my entire life running from those two great responsibilities and now I stand on the destruction of this world and I'm supposed to know how to use my powers?"

"Is that what's being asked of you?" Voren put his hands on the handle of his cane and stared back into Georges brown eyes. "I don't know if you're ready boy. You seemed so certain a bit ago that you didn't want anything to do with your powers."

"I've watched my mother and father die. I've seen ghosts from my past that are tearing me up inside because I cannot help them." George sat on the edge of the daïs with his face in his hands as the sword spun slowly in the air behind him. "I have failed to see the solution, the consequences of my actions and instead have focused so foolishly on my own selfish desires. It is no wonder I was sent here to be put away like some child to keep safe."

"Now you see the problem young Rahl, are you willing to focus on the solution?" Vorens voice was stiff and fatherly. Like an old school teacher.

"Solution? I don't know where to begin. I am so far behind that I am lost. I don't think I have what it takes to save my parents. And this 'Evil of old' what is that? The one with hair of white could be anyone, anywhere. There is no way I'll be able to-"

The Wizard rapped his head with the end of the cane. "Boy! You must first start with the most basic of lessons. Then you must move forward. You are not a Wizard, but you have both sides of the gift. Power is power, true, but even greater than the power that lies within you is the power that knowledge brings. You sit here examining all you do not know, and you will fail to see the value in all that you do know. Wizards First rule: People will believe anything out of the fear it may be true or the hope that it could be. You must deal with 'what is', not with what can or might be."

"Yes, but where do I begin, is there a book, a list of spells, or lessons? What must I do?" George stared up at the sword slowly spinning in the air. The steel gleamed. "I won't fool anyone if I can't even cast a simple web."

"A journey begins with a single step, young Rahl. You are a wizard and a Confessor, just as a blacksmith sees a sword in a piece of steel, so you must learn, just as the steel must be forged. It does not change the outcome. The qualities of the steel determine if the blade will break at the slightest clash or if it will remain strong through battles. Just as it must be forged and maintained, so must a Wizard must also be forged and tested." His words echoed through the passage and out into the darkness.

"I see you're point, but I am already exhausted from the journey here. I need to get to the Peoples Palace to find Nathan. I think he is the only one that can help me find the answers to the questions I now have." He let out an exasperated breath and stared at the sword. "What am I to do with this?"

"Take it with you. You may find it will help you on your journey. Be careful not to touch the blade, but place it in the Scabbard." The wizards voice echoed against the walls seeming as though there were multiple voices speaking all at once.

"What Scabbard?" George turned and Voren was gone. Where he stood leaning up against the daïs was a Scabbard, its glossy black exterior resembled that of the cane the Wizard used and at the top where the sheath opened to receive the blade was the engraving of the visor and two orange rubies inlaid in the eye slits.

From the darkness behind him George heard a shuffling sound. He could feel more than see the darkness begin to press around him and all at once the lights around the pillars flared to dimness that made it difficult to see. He reached up and grasped the sword by the hilt. The hilt itself felt warm to the touch as if it radiated a heat from within. The red and blue steel began to pulse and vibrate along the blade as they glowed. He could feel the power in the blade. There was pain there, at first it was a mild discomfort like a thousand pinpricks, but as he held the blade, those pinpricks became a soft yet constant jolt as he ached to release his grip. The pain could at first be felt in his palms working its way through his wrists and forearms. He felt the jolting ache in his shoulders and chest, and finally through his legs as the power of the pain left his body through the bottoms of his feet. He was unable to let go of the blade. For a brief moment, Orange rubies flared a bright and brilliant orange light and then faded.

"Wizard!" He called staring at the door at the end. There in his path stood a figure.

"You don't want to be a Wizard anymore. You don't want the curse of the confessor any longer. You want to be normal." The raspy voice was coming from the end of the passage. "You want to be free."

"You're not real. Return to the underworld where you belong." George called, the hackles on the back of his neck standing on end. "You're just a figment of my imagination." He could feel the Sword pulsing in his grip as it responded to the imminent threat sending a jolt through the hilt tracing its way through his body. The additive and Subtractive magic twisting and spiraling their way painfully through him.

"Am I now?" The figure stepped out of the shadows and into the pale light of the last pillar. "Am I?"

George squared his feet still taking in the sight. "You're… Me." The shock registered as he hesitated to take another step his eyes delving into the blackest depths of a mirror image of him. Wearing black trousers and a black jerkin with a cock eyed grin on its face that seemed as though it was evil itself wearing a mask of his skin.

"I am," replied the figure in a much more raspy imitation of his voice. "I am not. I am your one salvation from this world, George. I'm the one who can set you free. I can give you everything you asked for. All you have to do."

"All I have to do is what?" George's curiosity began to take over. "What?"

"Die!" The figures scream gave a long drawn out cry as he raised the twin of the sword that George now held firmly in his hand. Instead of Blue and red lines etched down the length of the blade, the lines were black and radiated with a green vibrance, much like that which was described as the veil to the underworld.

George swiftly moved, taking three steps to the side and drawing down into a crouch. He ducked as his opponent advanced again barely parrying a blow that would have raked into his left shoulder. George moved with the curious gate of someone who was not used to footwork and rapidly began to realize that his opponent was well versed in the technique.

"Where did you learn to fight?" George asked rather offhandedly.

His counterpart simply grinned and changed direction leading into George's stance covering his strong side. His counterpart forced George a step back and moved in to thrust at his mid-section, but George anticipated the maneuver and deflected the blow swiftly moving into the opening thrusting the blade up into the gut and pushing the length of the blade into the chest of his mirror image.

The pain was excruciating as the blade crackled with the power of additive and subtractive magic and his mirror image screamed in agony writhing against it. The mirror image dropped the blackened weapon he carried as he reached down to futilely pull the blade from his chest.

"You! You wanted to give up, remember?" The mirror image spat as blood dripped from his lips, his fingers still grappling with the blade impaled in his chest. "You wanted to be free. I could have given that to you."

"Through what death? If it's all the same to you, I think I'll live." George gritted his teeth against the pain. Every inch of his being screamed out with its searing heat. It burned through the hilt and every cell in his body screamed with its power. Every last fiber begged to let go of this mysterious weapon and never touch it again, but he couldn't. His fingers were involuntarily firmly affixed to the hilt. He screamed in horror as the blades blue and red steel began to vibrate and burned brightly in the darkness.

Finally, the pain subsided and he stood in the darkness, kneeling down, his head resting firmly against the hilt. His opponent gone and the passage lit by sconces of torches lining the walls. The four pillars turned to a simple pale slate gray of the Wizards keep. The dais was gone, but the end of the chamber showed a bare slate gray wall.

"I want to live," He whispered. "I want to be a Wizard, a confessor, I want to be more." His whispers danced around the flickering flames. He stood up looking at the sword in his hands turning it over studying the symbols etched into the blade and those along the cross guard inlaid in gold.

"Oh no," he exclaimed as the room plunged into total darkness, the green veil of the underworld illuminated before his eyes. George stood still waiting, hoping the pillars lights would light his way. Searching around in the dark he found the scabbard and slid the blade into it. The harsh sound of the edges of the sword scraped against the inside of the sheath. The orange ruby's blazing with light until the cross guard met the mouthpiece of the scabbard. George relaxed his muscles as he grew accustomed to the absence of pain through his body.

The green haze vanished and in its place a warm white glow appeared in the middle of the room between the four pillars. There in the middle stood Aian. Her face flawless and bright, bathed in warm white brilliance, he noticed the long tendrils of blonde hair pleated in a loose braid rolling down her back, brilliant green eyes and fair skin. Dressed in a long white tunic and white breeches she stood before him with a warm smile.

"Aian?" George's voice broke as he stared in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you Georgie," Her laughter was warm and sanguine, it touched her eyes adding brilliance to her face that he didn't seem possible.

"Here for me?" George's tone bordered on whimsical. "You," He cleared his throat, "are here for me? "

"Yea, Georgie, here for you." She giggled at the disbelief in his voice. The sound of her voice was quiet, yet it seemed to resonate off the walls of the long chamber still shrouded in darkness surrounding the light.

George stepped into the light. "The Creator let you borrow his flashlight?"

She giggled again, that lilt making him feel warm inside, "You always could make me laugh, Georgie." She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, running her fingers through his hair up the nape of his neck, caressing his scalp. "It's good to see you again. I'm okay, everything's okay."

George returned the embrace feeling solid radiating warmth that he didn't expect. "You're okay then." He held her at arm's length, "You're in the underworld with the good Spirits."

She nodded, "You didn't destroy me when you confessed me. You took away all my pain, all my hurt, all my sadness." She breathed deeply and played with a loose string hanging from his tunic. "You replaced it with love. Love for you."

"I'm sorry about that. You never deserved that kind of fate. I owed you so much more than that." George looked down at the sword in its scabbard. "This is important. I don't know why or where it belongs, but I know that my destiny belongs with this sword."

"That's why I'm here, Georgie." Aian furtively touched the hilt of the blade, "The purpose of this sword is important, but for now you need to know how important it is you face your destiny."

"My destiny?" George ran his fingers through his hair as he turned to stare blankly out into the darkness. "I have so much to learn, to understand, how am I to face a destiny without the knowledge I've ignored?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "My mother, my father, Cara... They will all die. How is me facing my destiny going to save them?"

"If you do not face the truth, your chance to save them never will be." She whispered. "I must go. I came to give you this one warning. Seek the Truth within yourself, for what you are is more important than you can possibly imagine. You must take the sword to the one with hair of white, that is all I know." She jerked involuntarily, turning to look over her shoulder. "Oh no,"

"The one with hair of white? What are you talking about?" George grabbed her shoulders, "What's wrong?"

"I'm being pulled away, they're coming for me. I'm not supposed to be here." The look of fear in her eyes was frightening. "Face your destiny Confessor, Wizard, my friend. Face the Truth."

George stared at the spot where she had stood. The darkness receded, the floors slate gray granite now returned and the pillars the only tall and an imposing features of the room. He staggered to the archway dragging the glossy black scabbard across the floor, his chest heaving, shoulders hunched, tears rolling down his cheeks. He lifted his hand to his face as he heavily fell to the floor.

"George Rahl!" A voice whispered from the archway, "Boy!"

"I'm here Wizard!" called wiping the tears from his cheeks and rubbing his eyes. He picked himself up off the floor and coming face to face with the Wizard he had met when he first arrived. "She's in the Underworld, she's ok."

"Who? What are you going on about?" The Wizard appeared from the darkness of the passage beyond the chamber.

"It's nothing, no one. Don't worry, I was just taking a tour and got lost I guess." George looked up at the faulted ceiling and then briefly at the Pillars standing in the middle of the room.

The old Wizard frantically waved his hands in front of his face, "Lost? I have looked for you everywhere. There is a Mord Sith at the gates. She says she's been sent to find you."

"Mord Sith? Are you sure?" George straightened and pulled the baldric attached to the sword around his shoulders placing the scabbard comfortably at his hip.

"What a minute, boy, that sword." The wizard reached out to touch the black visor and orange ruby eyes. "I have only read of this ancient blade of legend."

George faltered, "Read?"

George noted the nervous way the old Wizard licked his lips, "This sword is from the ancient of days. Its name is Haragon."


	4. Chapter 4

**TITLE: **The Winds Return: The Ancient Ones

**AUTHOR: **Robswandering

**CHARACTERS: **Richard Rahl / Kahlan Rahl / Night Wisps / Bolar

**RATING: **R / M

**WARNINGS:** No Warning

**TIMELINE: **After Season 2, 26 years

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a creative license to use some of my favorite Programs from Legend of the Seeker Television show and develop a more in depth personal view of one possible future for Richard and Kahlan.

**SUMMARY:  
><strong>Long before the Wizards Keep, the Confessors Palace, the lands of D'hara and the Old World there was a place far away beyond a great Gateway where the Ancestors lived. The Ancient ones have returned to the three lands seeking to attain the world that has lived untouched for almost eight thousand years. They find that boxes of Orden worked, the world blossomed and is once again their's for the taking. This begins a little of the History of the lands and how they became as George, Richard, Kahlan, and Cara still seek the answers to their quests a darker, more powerful, and sinister evil lies in wait to take over the lands. Time is short and a Wizard named Bolar and a Night Wisp named Kiska are all that stand in the way of the Empire of D'hara from being overrun .

_The Winds Return_

_The Ancient Ones_

Rimono's body rocked with the jarring cough that woke him for the tenth time as he huddled down among the rocks inside a protective shell of ice and snow. He opened and closed his cupped hands letting a ball of Wizards fire roll over itself in his palms. As the weather drew colder it became more difficult to draw from the warmth of the air, but with the last of his effort he pulled enough warmth from his body to create a flame. The snow that came down above him hit an impenetrable shell of ice that was rapidly beginning to crack unless he could reinforce it.

He held the flame of the Wizards fire up and allowed it to levitate warming the air around him. The shell of ice started to melt and he held out his hands to pull the warmth away before it melted drawing in the snow that threatened to bring a fast death with it. The Ice relented as several layers of snow above it turned to Ice while he drew the warm from the molecules above reinforcing his flagging shield against the blistering cold.

The air warmed slowly and the shivering of his body began to subside, but the coughing still rocked him causing his muscles and joints to ache with the fatigue threatening to pull him into sleep. He pulled a small book from inside his robes and opened it up. The dyed blue binding was held together with strips of skin and leather. The pages themselves appear to be spelled with ancient runes annotated on the corners. He dipped the stylus he pulled from the spine made of bone sharpened to a point into the ink bottle he carried with him no bigger than his thumb painted with orange symbols and runes on each of its four sides.

_Rimono, Second Wijarda of fourth Battalion, Journey day 5, sixth hour from sunrise._

_ Including myself, four made it through out of one-thousand forty-six. It appears the portal collapsed when it reached a maximum mass threshold disallowing any more of us to pass the event horizon. This is especially difficult as the events that occurred after we arrived were suspicious in their entirety. Rexan, Hendor, and Grillis are dead. Rexan's leg amputated when the portal closed on it leaving nothing but a stump just below the kneecap. Combine that with the insidiously freezing cold and rapidly losing blood, we took his supplies and Grillis tossed him over the mountain side. I think he screamed all the way down. Kiris, his wife won't be too saddened to hear of his death I'm sure, as she was already warming Battalion Commander Jeger's bed the moment he was chosen for this expedition. _

_ Hendor whined about our 'precarious' situation from the moment we arrived. What is even more infuriating is that I would trade a thousand of him for the engineer Jebus. Unfortunately Jebus' isn't here, and time is running short. Hendor unfortunately was of little use, bawling about the impossibility of recreating the right mass and density of those Crystals without knowledge and components that other members of our expedition were carrying. In the end, I thought it rather comical that Grillis became fed up with Hendor and blew him off the edge of the plateau. Grillis unfortunately was hit with a lancing spell that rapidly turned into a more serious bacterial infection. Since Bolar, our healer, abandoned us shortly after we arrived, Hendor was the closest we had to a healer. Probably better than Bolar, yet after three painfully excruciating days, he finally succumbed to the symptoms and passed away. I am unsure if Bolar is still alive, but I firmly believe now that he may be a member of the insurgency._

_ When we arrived, I examined the supports on this side disappointed to find the focusing crystals destroyed due to intentional damage. The structural damage of each Pylon no longer allows them the capability to power the gateway from this side. Each of the nine circular levels of the Pylons from the foundation stones to the apex has some decay and wear, but the spells written on them are largely intact. _

_ The crystal supports on this side have no hope of being repaired without assistance and the Gateway can't be reopened without resources to repair the damage. As it stands, the time dilation spell worked. The reports we received before the Gateways collapsed the first time reported that the mountain elevations were well above sixty four degrees vector, but so far using measurements and star constellations the mountain ranges have been worn down by the elements to just below fifty nine degrees vector from reference. _

_ Assuming the calculations are correct, it seems over eight thousand years has passed in the last few months that we have attempted to restore the gateway to this world. What concerns me most is plate and elevation shift. The plateau upon which the Gateway sits carved out of the mountain appears to be intact; however a verification of the foundation is necessary to make sure the Pylons have not shifted outside one-hundred twenty degrees beyond center._

_ On a more disparaging note I do not have the resources available to repair the pylons myself, but if I can find several spheres I will be able to use them as conduits to refocus the power and reopen the portal to get a small team through. Those on this side will not have abandoned codecs or the ancient arts so it is likely that several spheres may exist. Judging by the atmosphere and climate, this world is viable. Orden did not deceive us. The boxes worked._

Rimono replaced the stylus in the spine and tucked the book back into his robes. The howling storm had begun to die down a bit, but he stayed tucked safely away behind his shelter while the wind and snow encapsulated his hiding place among rocks. He pulled a small vial from inside his robes and inspected the amber and red colors swirling inside. Slipping the stopper off the vial he observed the steam rising from the contents into the cold air.

With a flick of his wrist he tipped the vial placing a drop in each eye before restoring the stopper. It took a moment for the elixir to take effect, but runes swam before his eyes and each one faded out of his vision before revealing a purple haze and a darkened room.

"Has your team arrived and found the boxes?" The gravelly voice sharply queried. Elongated vowels and over emphasized syllables made it distinct. Pale cream-colored skin in comparison to the yellowish hue of the conjunctive against the bright red irises of his eyes stood out in contrast to the surroundings.

"No, there has been a complication." Rimono's voice shook with fear as he awaited the Masters response.

"Complication," The caustic tone was unmistakable through gritted teeth. "Explain this… complication."

"Master, it appears the bridge failed. There were five that managed to make it through. The others with exception of Bolar and myself are dead." Rimono replied.

"Bolar." His blood-red irises filled his eyes and the very tone exuded condemnation. The pale skin of his face blushed in sharp pink contrast to his red hair.

"He's gone, Master. He ran at the first opportunity. I don't believe he'll make it very far out of these mountains. His death will be painful and slow."

"I certainly hope for your sake Rimono, you are correct. The one asset that we have is surprise and if the insurgents were to find out we are rebuilding the bridge, our efforts may be for naught."

"I have already estimated the time that's passed as we worked hard these last few months rebuilding the bridge to this world. I don't think that will be much of a problem, Master.

The cool eyes of the Master were pensive, but his tone conveyed suspicion thereby sending a chill down Rimono's neck. "And what are your findings Wijarda?"

Rimono cleared his throat. "Over eight thousand years, Master. Given what I know of the condition of the pylons on this side of the bridge their derelict condition seems to indicate that they have been abandoned."

"Good." Rimono had heard the quiet, yet thoughtful tone many times, but always just before a dark sentence is issued. "Ignorance is an asset. Eight thousand years," he repeated pensively. A heavily armored glove reached up and stroked a thin angular pale chin. "Perhaps that can work in our favor, but that depends upon your ability to repair the bridge. Can you?"

"Master, I will repair the bridge, but I need contact points for the pillars. Spheres will do the work. They will sense the power required and reflect it back into the central angle to recreate the connection necessary to build up the power required to support it." Rimono's voice quaked with fear as he worked out the equations in his mind.

"I don't have time for your ramblings Rimono," The pale face softened as the high cheekbones and slanted eyes looked through the vision directly into his soul. "Time is running short and I want to see progress. I expect that you will do everything in your power to rebuild the bridge. I assume you will need more of those with knowledge of the crystals to assist you?

"Yes, Master, the assistance of the Master Jewelers would be greatly appreciated." The simpering whine of Rimono's voice grated on his nerves, but it was necessary. "Thank you, Master."

"Very Well. Remember Rimono. This is our world. We created the power that created it. It belongs to us. Do not forget that."

"Yes, Master, It shall be done. " Rimono placed a fist across his midsection and inclined his head in a gesture of subservience. He then scolded himself reminded that the only thing the Master could see was the steam rising off the water and his eyes reflected off the water's surface.

"See that you do." Whispered a terse, but abrupt reply just before the face vanished.

Rimono coughed into the sleeve of his robe as he listened to the howling of the wind outside the safety of his snow cave. Groping around in the cold icy chamber he found the long staff of polished willow and pushed himself up to his knees. "Mo'sjia Nimaora Bramos Livorna" The words came in a guttural growl. Each word making the ground quake and the rocks suddenly shake around him. At the very last syllable of the last word, his white shell of protection exploded in all directions pouring in the sunlight and warmth. He pushed his staff against the wall of ice that now enclosed him and the ice formed into a series of steps leading up to the top of the embankment.

The pylons still stood like crumbling sentries against the edge of the plateau. Their stone foundations partly covered in snow, but because of the plateaus exposure to the elements on three of the four sides, most of the snow and sleet had blown away leaving them relatively untouched.

Rimono examined the plateau and the mountain rising above it. The location was precisely where it needed to be along the planetary axis and at a right angle to the central star in the system. The base angle of the mountains position on the crust of the earth rotating around its axis maintained a central point of conduction for the magical properties that governed the additive and subtractive. This mountain was the first place that his people had ever stepped foot on this world. This was the very first place that the power of Orden had ever been used to create a world that they could escape to.

He stepped closer to the pylon nearest him and placed a hand against the crumbling carved surface. The oblong shaped runes around each graduation of stones created an odd pyramid of sorts that culminated in a tapered apex supporting three frames. The frames measured approximately two feet in length to create a holder for what appeared to be broken crystals, once diluted with changing amber and orange diffused power, now broken and crumbling those crystals had turned black and powerless.

"Spheres," He breathed. "I need to find the spheres." He paced to the next pylon and counted forty-eight strides. Each individual pylon was exactly forty-eight strides apart. He exhaled deeply thanking the good spirits that the pylons had not moved over the eight thousand or so years. That might prove to be disastrous in his calculation. Rimono slowly paced to the center of the Pylons checking the angles of each verifying the vertical angles matched the computations previously stored in his memory.

With his finger he drew out the lines and angles as they should appear and the magic visually drew them for him. He watched the translucent blue additive trace each angle and vector as a verification web started to form. He slipped the angles from the focal point and with a brief gust of wind he blew the remnants of the last foot of snow inside the circumference of the large stone tablet on which he now stood. The design engraved in the stone was a grace. Inside the Grace where he stood was a center point and at one-hundred twenty degree angles just outside the outer circle representing the Spirit world stood the pylons. Each pylon connected with a line intersecting the outer circle, the square, and the inner circle to the center of the Grace. He stepped off-center of the verification web and with the flick of his fingers the web disappeared.

"Good. The central angles are intact. At least, I don't have to fix that." He whispered staring off into the distance to the south. He pulled a map from inside his robes. "They must have some sort of repository here, the only question remains where might this repository of magic be?"

The daylight obscured the Night Wisp as she flitted back and forth hovering over the plateau observing the activity below. She had watched them exit the portal and then suddenly the portal had collapsed with the last to exit screaming in agony in the darkness of the early morning hours. One of them stole away in those early morning hours descending the steep incline of the mountain to the valley below. It wasn't possible to know if he left the valley out of the snow-covered mountains, but she suspected by his direction that he is headed for Aydindril.

She watched them with their plain robes and knee-high boots as the remaining men fought and argued in a language she knew was long forgotten. They spoke in low guttural tones with elongated syllables and consonants each outdoing the other as conversations escalated to screaming matches in unintelligible words. The sound of the wind in the mountain carried their voices and the high pitched screams bounced off the walls as the one whose leg amputated by the collapsing portal had been tossed off the plateau and over the cliff falling thousands of feet to the base of the mountain below.

Finally when there were only three. She did not understand the arguments or the words, but they would point to one another and then to the pylons with the broken crystals atop each, then back to themselves. She understood that they were examining the pylons to reopen the portal. The larger man with a bald pate and grisly mustache stood over a younger man with spindly legs and arms and long greasy hair. They argued at first and then the sharp whining cry of the smaller man was rather comical as he was blasted off the side of the plateau and out into the air following his companion to his death.

His death was not without a Pyrrhic victory as lightning lanced from his fingertips knocking the rather large man from his feet. The last of the newcomers tended to his wounds, but as the days drew on and the cold winds began to take their toll, he finally succumbed to sickness. Then there was only one.

The Night Wisp flitted down behind the mountain through the valley searching for the one who had wandered off. She brushed the snow-covered mountain and back over the rocks of several inclines. She flitted back and forth over, under and through banks of snow and back down the sides of the mountains that skirted the eastern edge of the Rang'Shada mountains.

"Gotcha!" The low voice exclaimed as the Night Wisp cleared the last bank and flew straight into the leather pouch. He could feel it flitting to and fro frantically testing for weaknesses in the makeshift prison. It screeched and screamed helplessly with its melodiously beautiful voice.

He sat back against the rocks pulling the warmth from the air around him. Its warmth caressed his body within the plain brown robes and the knee-high boots that he wore. His leather cap pinned to his head flopped down over his ears and he cooed to the small creature in the leather pouch he held in his hands. "Wisp! Wisp! Listen! I was sent by Audria to find your kind."

The leather pouch grew still and he lifted the flap slightly to peer inside. She peered out from the small hole and responded. "Audria, our mother is Audria. Truthful you are."

"Yes," He breathed, "I am Wijarda Bolar. You will tell me where to find the resistance, where is Wijarda Goven?"

"Kiska. I am Kiska." She sighed audibly, "Many centuries, so sad. So many centuries. No one left. I am sorry," She whispered "Speak in High D'haran, you do. Very old Dialect it is."

"High D'haran?" His expression was curious. "They do not speak Haranian here?"

"Long time. Many centuries passed since first they came here. Languages evolve. Change."

"Change indeed. It seems we are too late. There is little hope of stopping them from reopening the portal without someone who would know of the old ways."

Kiska flitted around inside the leather pouch flashing light through the loosened leather holes. "There is one." She poked her face out at him. "Hair of White, Blade of pain, Hair of white. Seek the one with hair of white."

"Hair of white?" He stared at her quizzically an eyebrow arching. "Who is this one with Hair of white."

"He walks. He walks with the Mother Confessor." Her sing-song melody rang out in the cold air.

"Who is this Mother Confessor?" Bolar's questioning expression began to shift. "I am sorry, I do not understand. Who are these people you speak of?"

"Kahlan is. Kahlan is. Mother Confessor, Kahlan is." She whispered. "Going to die soon, if I do not return. Going to miss my kind."

"Wisp," He jostled the leather pouch as his panicked frustration began to mount. "Wisp, where is this Mother Confessor? Where do I find her?"

"She is West, to the west you will find her in the west." The small voice began to fade. "I will die soon. We do not do well in captivity Wijarda Bolar."

Bolar smiled. "It is a trait of your people. I know, but you must promise to help me find this Kahlan and I will help you get back to your people."

"You will not hurt her, you must promise me you will not hurt her and I will help." The small melodious sing-song voice rang out.

"I can promise you this, I must stop them from opening the Portal. There is more than simply this world to consider, but should Brandus-,"

Her melodious sing-song voice screeched out in terror, "Such horrible news. How does he live? Too many centuries! Too many thousands of years! He should not live."

"Magic can do many things, even slow down time, little Wisp." Bolar sighed opening the small leather pouch.

Kiska floated up before his eyes. "Magic was dying, but the Seeker and the Mother Confessor saved us. Magic is not dying anymore, but many died. Magic cannot bring them back."

"Indeed, little Wisp, and many more will die if you do not help me find this one with the Hair of White." Bolar understood his feelings now bordered on hopeless, but the wisps always spoke in riddles. Things he invariably could only come to understand with time. "I promise not to harm this Kahlan you call her."

"Bargain struck Wijarda Bolar." Her sing-song voice seemed tired and exhausted in spite of her enthusiastic flitting around his head.

"First though, you must be taken care of." Bolar caught the little wisp in the palms of his hands and the wisp screeched in terror.

"What are you doing? No, you promised. You need my help." Her panicked flitting back and forth inside the cage of his cupped hands tickled against his skin. Her cries of fear quieted when the channeled power of additive magic flowed from his fingertips into her small body. She recognized the comfort of home, of the woods where her kind lived for many centuries and she slept in the palm of his hand.

Kiska awoke with a start in the small leather pouch as it lay on its side on top of the thick robes that covered Wijarda Bolars legs. She could hear the soft baritone hum of his voice and the crackling of a fire. Peering out from her small leather cave she flitted out into the night air. The air seemed much warmer and the rocks and snow of the high mountains were long gone, dissolved into sweet green grasses and fallen leaves of gold, orange, yellows and reds. She recognized the home of her ancestors. The home of the Night Wisps.

"How did you know where to find us?" She flitted up into the warm air right before his eyes. Her sparkling lights blazing in the night as with each flap of her tiny wings her light changed from a vibrant pink, to the soft muted violets, and then a warm lavender, before changing once again to a golden yellow.

"It isn't difficult little Wisp." Bolar replied in a casual tone. "The Night Wisps live in a cocoon of magic. It was a simple matter of tracing the tendrils of that magic to you."

"Not difficult, but we are safe here. No one can find us." She whispered frantically, her voice more demanding than believing.

"Really?" Bolar prodded the flames with a stick. "You seem as though you're afraid, little Wisp."

"Afraid. Yes, now afraid. You found my home." She flitted about his head in a haphazard fashion clearly perplexed. "How did we move so many miles. So fast so many miles?"

Bolar laughed at first as he followed her dizzying trail around him. "We ported here. It is not a difficult thing for a Wijarda to do."

"Ported, yes. I remember." But she didn't. She remembered the feeling of home and then the long sleep.

Bolar was beginning to realize things were not as they seemed in this new world. "Wisp, would you mind answering some questions I have?"

"Perhaps. If they are good questions." She replied alighting on his leg.

"I have begun to see things that disturb me. Things I don't understand." He whispered, but the little Night Wisp remained silent. "You seem out of sorts. Is it so difficult to believe that we can manipulate matter, space, and time to suit our needs?

She flitted up and down again on his knee. The very practice of it mimicked a shy and guarded expression. "Many centuries, magic was dying, Wizards battled across vastness of this world. They destroyed the magic. Many died. The gift died in those born. What are left are infants to its power."

Bolar let out an exasperated breathe, "Dear Creator, are you saying that fewer were born with the gift?"

She whined yet the sound still sounded beautiful. "Many were born. Many were killed because they did not fully possess the power." Her colorful light changed faster as she moved around him. "Magic itself was dying. Wizards misused magic. Create they could, but take away they could not. Knowledge to use it was lost."

Bolars mind began to race. He understood. The magic had been choked off somehow. Things had gone horribly awry. "All of those things the early Wizards had created. They were left in the world?"

"Many things Wijarda Bolar. Dangerous things left in this world. No one to protect them, til the Seeker came."

"The seeker?" Bolar had never heard of such a thing. "What is a Seeker?"

"The Seeker is Richard," She howled, "Richard is the Seeker."

He stared up ward into the darkness, his eyes slowly adjusting from the light of the fire to the stars twinkling down at him from a clear sky. "I'm assuming this Richard the Seeker has magic?"

"Yes!" Her voice echoed into the clear crisp night. "He is One."

"One." His baffled tone was clear. "There is only one with both sides of the Gift?"

"No. Not alone." She whispered. "War Wizard. Seeker is the War Wizard."

"War Wizard?" Bolar rubbed his eyes rolling his fingers along his temples. "War Wizards are very rare. There has not been a War Wizard since Master Brandus."

"One other." She cried. "Barracus." Her voice carried through the wind.

Bolar heard the distant echoes of that sing-song voice and watched as tiny twinkling lights flew toward him from the darkness. He remained perfectly still and watched them come. "The others are coming little Wisp. Remember your vow to help me find this one with hair of white."

"I will remember Wijarda Bolar." She whispered as each twinkling light seemed to hover closer. The darkness that shrouded them began to get porous with muted illuminations of light of every color.

The strongest of lights bounced through the darkness to the small fire. It flitted from tree to tree and slowly approached with an odd gait of a man possessed by drink, but the course if not direct in a haphazard fashion. Kiska flew up into the air and Bolar stood with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes.

Finally the light had come close enough it settled into the knot of a tree and steadied. Bolar bowed and smiled appreciatively. "I bring news from Audria." He began. "And I bring a dire warning that cannot be ignored or all will fall.

A small voice spoke with more of an authoritative tone than one of fear. "What message do you bring from our sisters beyond the gateway?"

"She is the last, but Audria begs you to assist me." He kneeled. "She asks you to help me stop Master Brandus, stop the darkness from overtaking this world as it overtook my own."

"How do we know that you speak true, Wijarda?" She replied mournfully.

Bolar pulled a small pouch from his robes. "This I hope will convince you of my faith." He tossed it down in front of the tree and watched as several of the twinkling lights flitted down and alighted upon it to examine it. "This belonged to Audria. She asked me to bring it here. To you."

The leather pouch burned away revealing a small gossamer amulet. It glowed in soft vibrant colors changing in constant measure. Finally the twinkling light spoke, but the soft voice was more melancholy than authoritative. "Gave this to you. Audria, my love. Gave this to you to bring to us."

"Yes. You are now the last of your kind." His voice was soft and warm. "I only ask that you help me find this one with hair of white and answer my questions."

"No, Wijarda. Your questions do not seek answers. You seek questions to your answers." She screeched.

"There is one more like me. He is at the gateway as we speak." He frantically replied. "He will find a way to open the gateway and then Master Brandus will arrive with an army of Wergris. There will be no defeating him then. We must stop them from opening the gateway."

"Wrong you are Wijarda Bolar." Replied the sing-song voice. "You will be surprised in what you seek. You must teach, you must train, they must see."

Bolars expression was practically audible in the cold evening air. "Who must be taught? Who must I train?"

"Wizards. You must train Wizards. Teach them. Tell them. Help them. The battle is coming. No time." The small twinkling lights faded into the night as the last words echoed not just from one voice, but a chorus.

"Kiska! Kiska! Where are you?" The cold night air filled with silence, but for the crackling of his fire and the darkness that shrouded him. He stood there taking in the world around him and sending out his gift in waves trying to detect their presence. The Night Wisps were gone.


End file.
